Secret Steps
by nadagio
Summary: Extreme AU. In a world where contact between muggles and wizards is strictly forbidden, where love blinds, and power is corrupt... an orphaned Hermione Granger struggles to make things right with the help of some unlikely allies. HG,SS.
1. Step 1

"There is not any present moment that is unconnected with some future one. The life of every man is a continued chain of incidents, each link of which hangs upon the former. The transition from cause to effect, from event to event, is often carried on by secret steps, which our foresight cannot divine, and our sagacity is unable to trace. Evil may at some future period bring forth good; and good may bring forth evil, both equally unexpected."

– _Joseph Addison (1672-1719)_

* * *

**Secret Steps**

* * *

Having just murdered her mother, a young woman chose to turn that same violent intent upon herself. It was a gruesome destiny hastened by mere months, but it forever altered the fate of Wizarding Britain…

* * *

**Step 1**

* * *

It was November of 1989 and the Wall had just fallen. Not their Wall, mind you, but the muggles' Wall in Germany. The Berlin Wall. That it was the inspiration for their Wall was a well-known secret.

Really, _their_ Wall wasn't so much of a wall at all, but instead an opaque magical barrier surrounding all of Wizarding Britain. And their Wall, like the muggles' Wall, wasn't there to keep others out so much as it was there to keep the inhabitants _in. _The muggles didn't even know the Wizarding Wall was there. But to every witch and wizard who saw it tapering up and up toward the sky, it was a daily reminder of their circumstances.

It would have been difficult to navigate Wizarding Britain in such a state if it weren't for the conveniences of magical transportation. But as things were, it was little trouble at all to pop between the various small wizarding towns, schools, and suburbs scattered across Britain without illegally venturing through all of those muggle parts in between.

And some parts were very isolated, indeed: just an old family's home on a small plot of land. Such families had to have their property Walled and connected to the Floo Network by special request.

—But back to the muggles' Wall.

No one learned of its fall by reading the _Daily Prophet_. No, the Ministry controlled the media too heavily to let such news break in the paper. Instead the message slipped through in an owl message to an English wizard from his relatives on the continent. Such private correspondence wasn't scanned or censored heavily.

At the time. One wizard who went by the name of Severus Prince had a strong feeling that it would be soon.

From that one owl, the news spread very quickly in hushed whispers between neighbours and colleagues until very soon, everyone knew.

While the rest of the world celebrated, Wizarding Britain became restless.

No one was terribly fond of the Wall of course, but it had been there for long enough that people had become complacent. Until the news hit that the muggles' Wall had been torn down, and then suddenly everyone—especially those of older generations who remembered a time before the Wall—thought to question: why was _their_ Wall necessary?

There were small, petty acts of vandalism and secret gatherings in protest. But the protesters were quickly punished and aurors patrolled the streets more regularly. Posters featuring the scowling face of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were hung prominently, reminding everyone that sedition would not tolerated.

It was a tough time to be a wizard in Britain.

Severus felt the tension keenly as he stalked through the foggy, early-morning streets of Diagon Alley on his way to open shop. The aurors eyed him carefully while he unlocked the door to his apothecary and entered, flipping the sign in the window to "Open" with a swish of his wand.

He made sure that his wards had not been tampered with during the night and then proceeded to the back of the shop in a foul mood. This wasn't unusual for Severus, almost any small thing was liable to put him in a foul mood. That morning he had found that he was almost out of tea and would have to get more before returning home. That was enough.

Looking at the ledgers, as he was doing then, only made it worse. He was scraping by, his earnings covering expenses, taxes, and costs of living... but barely. Severus was more fortunate than many, but he was not the sort to focus on the positives of a situation.

Instead he focused on the incompetence of a government that isolated its citizenry and allowed the economy to wither.

He was interrupted from his brooding when a soft ping, heard only by him, indicated that someone had entered the apothecary and passed through his wards.

The wizard slipped quietly behind the counter at the front.

For a time he didn't see anyone, only heard light footsteps as someone wandered through the barrels and shelves of jars and bottles, filled with potions, unguents, herbs, animal parts and more. Then the person came around the corner and Severus realized that his potential customer was actually a young girl with a wild mane of untamed, brown hair. A pudgy cat trailed behind her.

Severus could tell from her distinctive, uniformed robes that she was from the orphanage on the other end of Diagon Alley. And since she was not at Hogwarts this time of year, she must have been younger than eleven. But that didn't explain what she was doing in his apothecary. Alone. Serverus knew that the younger orphans were only permitted to be outside in groups of three or more at certain hours and were unlikely to need anything he sold.

He watched silently, amused at her startled jump and gasp when the girl suddenly noticed his presence.

She stared at him, wide eyed. Wary and guilty. He knew she hadn't touched anything, it was likely guilt for sneaking away.

"How may I help you?" he asked with a smirk and a pinch of snide amusement.

"I-I um, I'm fine, thank you, sir," she squeaked out and continued to slowly examine the shelves under his imposing watch, occasionally giving him fearful glances.

Severus rolled his eyes. The girl had no finesse in her rule-breaking. She would probably be a Hufflepuff.

"Sir?" she said cautiously after a time, "What are all of these for?" The girl gestured broadly at a shelf of ingredients.

But then with her curiosity... perhaps a Ravenclaw?

"Potions," he drawled slowly, and she rolled her eyes.

Maybe a Gryffindor, then. Any of them were possible, of course. Any but Slytherin, with her heritage.

"I meant _specifically_," she said, clearly agitated with his patronizing reply. But he was not it in a mood to tolerate cheek from a child.

"I'm not going to tell you the specific properties of every ingredient I stock, child. Such knowledge is why the Ministry pays to educate you," he snapped.

She slumped, chastened, and stared forlornly at the jars. Severus felt a small stab of something resembling remorse. He sighed.

"Choose _one_," he grumbled, and her happy grin only marginally compensated for his annoyance.

The girl studied the jars carefully, seemingly searching for the most interesting. Finally she pointed.

"That one?"

He had to take only a short glance at the black, slug-like plant...

"That is a bubotuber," Severus told her with thinly disguised impatience. "Properly diluted and processed, its pus may be used to cure acne. Undiluted, it will raise terribly painful boils upon contact with the skin."

She took a respectful step backward, even as she leaned forward to study it more carefully.

"I've read about those," she told him reverently, "Is it true that they squirm around and smell funny?"

He nodded, mildly surprised that a young girl would read about such things. She giggled.

"I wonder what they smell like..." she mused, conversationally.

Her cat stepped forward and put its paws up on the bottom shelf, sniffing at a jar.

"If that creature breaks anything, it will be on you to see it replaced," he snarled. The girl bent down to lift the beast into her arms and looked at him with a wounded expression.

"Tibbles wouldn't break anything," she told him, seemingly offended on the creature's behalf. "He's too smart for that!"

Severus studied the cat more carefully and reluctantly acknowledged to himself that it was likely true. "Tibbles" did look at least part kneazle. Not that he would apologize.

The girl edged toward the door, the beast still in her arms.

"Thank you very much, sir, for answering my question," she said politely, her expression again wary.

Severus simply nodded, frowning, and watched as she quickly fled the store.

He shook his head. What an odd child.

* * *

He was surprised when she returned a few days later, Tibbles still trotting behind.

The girl wandered the apothecary and studied his shelves while he assisted another wizard.

When his customer left, she pointed at a jar of fluxweed.

"What about that one?" she asked, as if continuing their previous conversation. He wondered if she bothered all the other shop-keeps in Diagon Alley with incessant questions like this.

He shortly informed her of the magical properties of _Isanthus brachiatus_, and she nodded with a grateful smile before soon leaving.

* * *

And then she returned _every_ day, Tibbles in tow, in order to ask him one question each visit. Always some variation of "what is that?"

He wondered when he agreed to the bargain. One answer for one question each day. It was apparently the girl's "clever" attempt to circumvent his refusal to tell her everything all at once. He wasn't certain why he put up with it. She never bought anything. Severus determined that he must have found her curiosity, at some level... _endearing_.

However, Severus had to marvel at the lax security of the orphanage. Shouldn't the girl have been found out and punished, prevented from leaving on her own? It was not very safe for a young girl to wander about Diagon Alley's streets alone. And as an orphan, she was a prime target for narrow-minded bigots.

He suggested as much to her on one occasion, a couple weeks after her initial visit.

"There's so many of us, no one really notices when I'm gone. And Tibbles will protect me," she told him. He eyed the creature sceptically. "It's true! He'll get Mrs. Figg if I'm hurt."

Severus didn't doubt it. But there was very little that the old squib who ran the orphanage could do if one of her charges turned up hurt. And an auror was just as likely to be the cause of the injury as help heal it.

So one day when her back was turned, Severus cast a small charm. Nothing illegal, so far as he was aware. It would alert and lead him to her location if she was ever in pain and afraid, provided she stay within Diagon Alley. It was a charm his mother had cast when he was young, and it was the least he could do. He was the one enabling and practically encouraging her recklessness with his cooperation, after all.

This was soon after the girl had finally asked,

"Sir, what's your name?"

"Severus Prince," he told her, busy sorting receipts.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, "I'm very pleased to meet you." And she curtsied.

Severus gave her a nod in acknowledgement, rather bemused. They'd "met" quite a bit earlier, after all.

The girl then walked toward the door, and Severus was startled. Did she think that was her question for the day? Before he could think twice about it he called out,

"The bottle of cerulean-coloured potion to your right on the top shelf is a Befuddlement Draught."

Her response was a beaming smile and Severus felt a small tug of satisfaction. He suppressed it with a scowl.

* * *

One day after he explained to her the uses of dried billywig stingers, Granger tentatively questioned,

"Mr. Prince, do you make these potions yourself?" She waved a hand around as if to indicate all of the potions in his store.

"Most of them, Miss Granger, yes. Though I'm the only apothecary in Britain to do so," he informed her, smirking proudly.

The girl regarded him with a sort of worshipful awe that he had to admit was rather gratifying.

"Do you suppose, sir, I might someday... watch you make one?" She seemed already resigned to his refusal.

He considered her carefully, however, thinking about the days, long ago, when he would stand on a stool beside his mother and watch her brew while his father managed the store.

His father died years ago, leaving him to manage things. His mother had been depressed and withdrawn ever since.

Severus looked around the apothecary, empty but for the girl, and made a decision. The wards would alert him if anyone entered...

"Follow me," he told her, and headed toward the lab in the back. Severus paused when he didn't hear her footsteps and looked back. The child stood frozen, looking uncertain and afraid. He rolled his eyes.

"If you want to observe, _come_," he snapped and Granger scurried after him, grinning. Tibbles, as always, followed behind.

As he set up the cauldron and began preparing the ingredients for a Calming Draught, she predictably began to ask a number of foolish questions in rapid succession. Severus glared, and she subsided, content to watch silently.

In the end, he found the experience to be overall... pleasant.

* * *

It was very cold and dark in the attic, but Hermione kept a pile of heavy blankets in the corner to snuggle into, and she had always had a talent for wordlessly, wandlessly conjuring small bluebell flames to keep in a jar to read by.

So aside from the dust and rather frightening atmosphere, the orphanage's attic was the perfect place for her to find some peace and quiet. There were other rooms where one could be alone for a while, of course, but none as solitary as the attic. No one ever came across her, up there, where all the old junk that belonged to orphans years and years ago was stored. (Mrs. Figg was too kind to ever throw it away, though it was rare that anyone ever actually came to retrieve any of it.)

Yes, Hermione was quite confident in the secrecy of her special hiding place. Until one day she was startled to hear the creak of footsteps slowly making their way up the small, wooden staircase. She would hide... but where? This _was_ her hiding place! So she sat frozen as the attic door opened and a little girl slipped inside hesitantly. Hermione recognized her as Hannah Abbott, one of the girls with whom she shared a room. Which meant that the giggling from the bottom of the stairs was probably her other roommates.

Hannah looked around, clearly frightened. She seemed close to tears when she turned around and yelled shakily down the stairs,

"All right, I'm here! May I come down now?"

"No, five minutes, we said!" came the gleeful response. Hermione rolled her eyes. Whatever silly game they were playing, she wanted no part of it.

She stood, which caused the floorboards to creak and Hannah spun around to let loose a blood-curdling scream...

until she saw that it was only Hermione, and she stopped with as fearsome a scowl as a nine year old girl could muster.

"What are _you_ doing up here?" Hannah asked snottily, ignoring the worried calls from the others girls downstairs. Then her eyes lit upon the book in Hermione's hand, and she sneered meanly. "_R__eading _like always?"

"I was," Hermione defended, lifting her chin. "Perhaps you should try it sometime. I think you'd be much improved with a few thoughts entering your stupid head, for once."

The younger girl huffed furiously, but was prevented from responding when her two friends burst into the attic right behind her.

"Are you okay?" "What happened?" they asked quickly and then spotted Hermione.

"Oh! We thought you may have found a boggart or something!" Alice said, laughing. "Was it just Granger?"

Hannah pouted angrily, and Liz thought to console her,

"I'm sure you were just startled. Um... did I mention that Justin was looking for you, earlier?"

The embarrassed girl perked up immediately. "Really?" Hannah asked brightly, already headed down the stairs, their earlier game and Hermione's insult easily forgotten. "He told me my hair looked nice you know, last week..."

Alice rolled her eyes and followed behind. "Yes, you've told us over and over. I still think he was joking. I don't think bright green is really a good colour for you..."

Liz loitered around a bit longer, eyes darting around nervously as if expecting something to jump from the shadows at any moment.

"Um, sorry about that," she mumbled awkwardly. "We bet her a whole sickle she couldn't stand being in the attic for five minutes, you see." Hermione shrugged and clutched her book to her chest.

"It's all right."

For a moment Hermione thought the girl might say something else.

Liz had always been the nicest to her, of everyone in the orphanage. The younger girl never teased her for reading so much like all the other children, and for a while Hermione had hoped they might be friends. Those hopes were dashed when Liz started spending more time with Hannah and Alice.

But Liz said nothing, just scurried out of the attic and back down the narrow staircase.

Oh well. She had books, and that was almost as good as a friend.

Feeling the mood spoiled by the other girls' rowdy interruption, Hermione extinguished the flame in her jar and left the attic too. She walked down and down a number of floors and through corridors until she reached the orphanage's small library, and reverently placed her book back in its proper place on the shelves.

It seemed like a good time to visit Mr. Prince, anyway.

Hermione walked quietly to the entrance hall and looked around. No one could be seen, so she carefully pulled open the front door the slightest bit—giving the portraits a smile when they winked at her—and slipped through, shutting it quietly behind her. It had surprised her the first time, how easy it really was to sneak out.

A number of _mews_ greeted her as Mrs. Figg's cats quickly surrounded her on the steps.

She made sure to give each of them a good scratch behind the ears before she walked away. As always, Tibbles broke away from the others to follow behind.

Past Ollivander's and the junk shop, the Magical Menagerie and Gambol & Japes. It was as familiar a landscape to her as the back of her hand. She had lived in Diagon Alley, and gone no farther, for as long as she could remember. Longer, even. The aurors watched her suspiciously but made no move to deter her.

Then she began to pass the entrance to Knockturn Alley and heard a faint, pitiful cry that sounded very much like it came from a person in pain. Hermione hesitated. She wasn't supposed to go into Knockturn Alley, that place was as _unfamiliar_ to her as Diagon Alley was familiar. And for the most part Hermione liked to follow rules... when it suited her. Knockturn Alley looked scary, so it had always suited her very much to stay out of it.

But when she heard a sound that suggested someone might be in trouble... She looked around, but if the aurors or anyone else noticed anything they gave no indication of caring.

She hesitantly took a few steps, and then walked quickly into Knockturn Alley. Already the atmosphere seemed darker. More wizards had the hoods on their cloaks raised and the cheerful, busy chatter of Diagon Alley was absent. Hermione felt that they'd take one look at her and realize she didn't belong, send her back.

But everyone ignored her, going about their own business.

Hermione followed the wailing to an alleyway next to a store which kept a gruesome display of giant, dead spiders in the window. The cries grew much louder, and she could now hear a man sobbing and pleading. Frightened, she peered cautiously around the corner of the building and saw two wizards—the backs of their uniform, black robes emblazoned with the green symbol of Magical Law Enforcement.

They shifted a little bit, and one of them kicked at a lump of twitching fabric on the ground. Slowly, Hermione was horrified to recognize that lump of fabric as Ernie, a very nice—if smelly—old man with poor eyesight who could often be seen asking for charity from Diagon Alley's patrons. It seemed he couldn't afford his own home, so Ernie often slept in alleys. She sometimes shared her sweets with him.

"I'll ask you again," one of the aurors jeered, "Where'd you steal that nice, new cloak from?"

"P-p-_please!_" Ernie stuttered, "I d-din't-'E _g-gave_ it t' me!"

"Wrong answer," the same auror sighed, "I suppose you'll need some more _convincing_. _Crucio_!"

Ernie started thrashing on the ground, screaming. Hermione stood frozen, watching, as tears ran down her face in horror at the man's obvious pain. Other wizards in the street occasionally glanced over, but quickly averted their gaze and moved on.

"Suppose he's telling the truth, Gibbon?" the other auror asked above the noise, sounding mildly amused but mostly bored.

"Gibbon" snickered and lifted the curse with a flick of his wand. Ernie stopped screaming, but she could see that he was still twitching. "I'm sure he's done _something_ recently that he oughtn't have, Jugson."

Immediately determining that _something_ must be done, she began furiously concentrating on the hem of Gibbon's robes, which soon enough sparked with a small blue flame. As the flames grew larger, Hermione ducked out of view from the alleyway and hid herself in the entryway of a nearby store, heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

"If you keep doing that, he won't be good for more than the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo's," Jugson chided.

"He'll be of more use there than-"

"Gibbon! Your robes!"

"Wha-? Argh! Get off!"

"The fire or the robes?" Jugson asked, laughing.

In the resulting confusion, Ernie smartly managed to drag himself out of the alley.

"Psst, Ernie!" Hermione whispered, "Over here!"

The poor man seemed to have lost his glasses, but obligingly crawled through the thin layer of snow toward her voice. She helped him into the entryway, bravely ignoring the stench (which was much worse than usual), and they knelt there in the shadows silently. Or mostly silently. Ernie whimpered a bit, still twitching.

"For Merlin's sake, Gibbon," Jugson said, exasperated, and cast an extinguishing spell. "It's just a little fire."

"Well excuse me for panicking a bit, but I was _burning!_" Gibbon snapped angrily. "Bloody hell, I'm going to need new robes, and some sort of salve..."

"Just how _did_ you manage to catch yourself on fire?"

The two aurors exited the alley, thankfully seeming to have forgotten their target in favour of their bickering.

"_I_ didn't do it! I bet _you_ did just to laugh and watch me hop around!"

"_Please_. If I were going to raise my wand against you, it wouldn't be to set a little fire on your robes."

"And just _what _do you mean by that...?"

They got farther and farther away into the crowd until Hermione couldn't hear them anymore. She took a deep breath to sigh with relief and then wished she hadn't. Urgh. That _smell_.

"Um, are you okay, Ernie?" she asked, standing gratefully and putting a bit of distance between them. Tibbles rubbed himself against her legs, having just emerged from a shadowy corner on the other side of the street.

"Y-yes... Thank y-you," the man stuttered quietly.

She saw his glasses on the ground a little ways away and picked them up. The lenses were cracked.

"I'm sorry, I think they're broken..." she said, placing them in the man's hands. Ernie put them on and looked at her solemnly.

"'s al-r-right." He carefully retrieved his wand and pointed it at his face, shaking. "_R-re-r-e-p-pa-ro._" Hermione felt a stab of impatience at seeing him fail at such a simple charm, she'd seen the older orphans use it all the time to repair things before Mrs. Figg could find them broken. Then she felt bad, suppressing her irritation, reminding herself that he was hurt. He gave up with a sigh, and she carefully offered a hand.

"Um, I could try..." she said hesitantly, and he offered her the wand entreatingly. Taking it by the handle, she paused. "Maybe I should try it with them off," she mumbled, and gently took the glasses from him. Ernie blinked at her owlishly, though his twitching had already lessened slightly. "Reparo" was all. And there didn't seem to be any wand movements necessary...

"_Reparo_," she said firmly, and was very pleased when the lenses repaired themselves. "Here you go!" She returned the glasses and wand.

"Th-thank you."

"You're welcome. Uh, I'm glad you're okay, or well, will be, I think," Hermione told him, not sure what to say to extract herself from such a situation. She wanted to know more, to know why they were hurting him. But at the same time, she wanted to be somewhere else desperately and never wanted to think about what she saw or why it happened again. "I believe I'll be going now?"

Ernie nodded.

"_Thank you_, Miss G-granger. V-very much," he said softly. She smiled gently.

"I'm very glad I could help. Bye then!" Hermione waved and carefully made her way back to Diagon Alley. She headed straight to Mr. Prince's apothecary and found herself frowning in deep thought, dwelling—despite her wish to forget the whole experience.

When she walked in Mr. Prince was re-stocking a jar of what looked like horned slugs. Eww. She knew he knew she was there, but he didn't turn to acknowledge her.

So Hermione stared at his back silently, at his familiar black robes and his long, fine, black hair gathered in a tail in true wizarding fashion.

Her silence seemed to confuse him (usually she would greet him with a cheerful "hello, Mr. Prince!") because he turned quickly with a scowl, a large slug in hand.

"Are you quite well, Miss Granger?" he asked. She remembered that she was crying recently, and wondered how much a mess her face must look.

"Yes, sir. But... could you tell me something about aurors?" His scowl worsened.

"Aurors...?" he repeated.

"Yes, sir. They're... supposed to protect us, right?" she asked. Before that day, she wouldn't have even questioned it. But suddenly nothing was as clear to her as it once was.

Mr. Prince looked around quickly and drew his wand. He appeared to cast a spell, but Hermione didn't notice anything change.

"Yes, Miss Granger... that is their purported duty. Dare I ask what motivated your curiosity?" He studied her carefully as if something in her manner might give him a clue.

"I just—I saw them, just now... hurting someone. And I don't think they had a very good reason," she told him, eyes welling up again with tears at the memory of Ernie's pain.

"You didn't attempt to stop them, did you?" he demanded, dropping the slug into its jar and walking toward her quickly. "You didn't pause or interrupt, or catch their attention in any way?"

Mr. Prince was a bit frightening when his voice was loud and he was looming in front of her, scowling like that. His demeanour led her to drop her gaze and shake her head quickly, guiltily.

He must have thought her guilt was for not stopping the aurors instead of guilt at lying, because he relaxed, seemingly relieved.

"It is important you understand, Miss Granger, that many wizards are not kind," Mr. Prince said, "And it is generally _that_ sort of wizard that becomes an auror, because aurors _will not be held accountable_. For _anything_. Do you understand?"

She didn't, no, and shook her head to indicate such. He sighed.

"Aurors are a powerful force within the Ministry, Miss Granger... they are the only _military_ force, and they are very much favoured by the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who himself is a very powerful wizard. So should any of them... become a bit bored, want to have a bit of fun... You are never to repeat this, Miss Granger—but he will forgive it, encourage it, even. He will allow them _anything_.

If you ever get it into your head to fight back, or accuse them of something... you will either be dead very soon or wishing you were."

Mr. Prince's expression suggested that he was utterly serious, and Hermione bravely tried to swallow a hiccuping sob. It couldn't be true! It wasn't fair!

"B-but, if the _minister_ knew...!"

"You could never convince him, Miss Granger. The minister is manipulated so strongly on all sides... And even if you could, there's nothing he could do to change things short of starting a civil war."

He watched sadly as Hermione cried, as her whole world view shattered around her and her ideals of fairness and justice were disproved. He lifted her from where she'd collapsed on the floor and set her on the stool behind the counter, conjuring a handkerchief and wiping at her face gently.

She didn't leave that stool for what felt like ages.


	2. Step 2

**Step 2**

* * *

It was a chilly evening on the day before Yule. Though much of Diagon Alley was closed for the holiday, Severus chose to stay open. He liked to avoid being at his home in Hogsmeade as much as possible; his mother's silent presence was... unnerving.

Severus was going about his regular business when he felt an uncomfortable magical hum pass through his body, accompanied by a minor sensation of pain and fear that seemed to come from nowhere. He was confused at first until he remembered the charm, and then felt a moment of panic. Granger.

He rapidly flipped the sign to "Closed: and hurried from the store, allowing the magic to guide him through the throngs of late Yule shoppers to an alley nearby.

Severus found her alone. Huddled, shivering on the snowy ground, cradling her left arm and crying in the dim light of the shimmering Wall.

He hissed a sharp breath through gritted teeth and cast a charm to warm her. Severus then carefully lifted the girl in his arms and made his way back to the apothecary, Granger sniffling into the collar of his robes. Random passer-by ignored him, just another father and his sleepy daughter, while those aurors who recognized him eyed him suspiciously. He glared in return.

He entered the shop and settled her on the stool behind the counter, kneeling down.

"May I see it?" he asked quietly, and she reluctantly held out her left arm, sobbing. He removed the sleeve of her thick winter robes with his wand and hissed again as the swollen flesh was revealed. Clearly broken.

He summoned a vial of pain potion and instructed her to take it. Once it took effect, Severus cast a charm to set the bone and immobilize it. She whimpered. He then summoned a bottle of Skele-Gro and a spoon.

"This will be painful," he cautioned her, "But it shouldn't take more than a few minutes."

Severus poured a small amount into the spoon, held it to her mouth and tipped, watching her swallow. He wordlessly sent the jar back to the shelves.

Within moments, Granger began to cry out and grip his shoulder desperately. Magic and discomfort hummed madly through his body at her pain. But there was nothing he could do. He stood stoically.

After a few minutes the pain did seem to lessen and she became quiet. Her body, once tense with agony, relaxed with exhaustion. He steadied her on the stool.

"Are you injured anywhere else?" Severus asked. She shook her head no and stared at her still-swollen arm. He noticed a few scrapes, nonetheless, and healed them quickly.

"Will it be normal by tomorrow?" she whispered.

"It should."

"I'm glad. The minister is visiting tomorrow, you know, for Yule. He always brings sweets..."

By that time, his concern had lessened and anger began to take hold.

"And just what were you _doing_, alone in an alley with a broken arm?" he asked her slowly.

The girl suddenly looked very guilty. Severus gave her a piercing stare that he knew to be very effective and waited.

"I-um-" she mumbled, "I was on the roof, sir. Trying to... look over the Wall. And I fell."

"Look over the-" he repeated, aghast. Of all the stupid and ridiculous things... "Miss Granger, you had best remove any sort of foolish thoughts and curiosity about what's beyond the Wall _immediately_. There is nothing, as I'm sure you know, but muggles and their ilk. And muggles, _as I'm sure you know_, are extremely violent and prejudiced. It is for our own sake that the Wall is there, and attempting to so much as 'look over' it is only likely to get you in the worst sort of trouble with the Ministry."

Severus glared at her harshly while she poked at her swollen arm sadly.

"Do you understand?" he barked. He needed to be sure that she listened to him, needed to be sure that she wouldn't _ever_ get on the wrong side of the aurors.

"Yes, sir," she whispered sullenly. He could only pray that she did.

"I just..." the girl then began desperately, looking at him teary-eyed. "I just wonder, you know, sometimes, if my parents are out there. If they remember or miss me..."

Severus sighed, suddenly exhausted. Yes it was a natural curiosity and he was sympathetic, but it had to be discouraged.

"They probably are, and do," he told her quietly. "But they also believe you to be dead, and it would be extremely unwise to ever attempt to disprove them of that notion. You are here for good reason, Miss Granger. You have been privileged with magic, and leaving you out there would have been dangerous for you and for them. Here you receive the best care and education that the Ministry can provide. It is best for all concerned, and I would strongly urge that you don't endanger your position by succumbing to childish whims."

The girl nodded glumly and her eyes began to wander the shelves. He watched her, mildly concerned. Eventually she pointed with her good arm at a nearby jar.

"What about that one?" she questioned slowly, probably trying to distract him from his anger or herself from the lingering pain.

"Wormwood, or _Artemisia absinthium,_" he told her. "It is used primarily in the Draught of Living Death, but also to relieve stomach problems. Its oil may be used to improve blood circulation."

Granger nodded, but her mood seemed little improved. A thought struck him...

"Miss Granger, hold out your hand." She did so, curiosity written bold across her face, and he unceremoniously handed her a few sickles.

"Consider it a Yule gift," he told her stiffly. "I expect you to spend those on sweets or the like."

The girl gave him a toothy smile and nodded.

"Thank you, Mr. Prince!" she said excitedly, "I know just what to get! The minister brought us all Chocolate Frogs last Yule, and did you know that they have cards inside with interesting facts about famous wizards...?"

Granger continued to chatter on about how exciting the minister's visit the next day would be, and Severus listened with amused tolerance, though he reflected bitterly on the girl's seeming worship of the man. The minister was nothing but a blind, old fool who was led by his lower brain.

Eventually, the chatter slowed and Granger's speech became sluggish. There was a minute of silence as her head nodded down, down...

He barely caught her before she fell off the stool.

Severus stared at the sleeping girl in his arms and sighed, at a loss. Now what?

He heard a mewing and looks to the apothecary's door. Mrs. Figg stood outside, Tibbles at her feet.

Before she could knock, the door was opened with a flick of his wand. The squib and cat entered.

"I see Hermione found herself in some trouble," the old woman said, looking concerned, wary and suspicious all at once.

He nodded.

"Yes, I discovered her in an alley, her arm broken. The injury was easily mended."

"Discovered her?" Mrs. Figg said mildly, and Severus glared.

"Yes, discovered her."

"How fortuitous."

"Indeed."

"Well then, I'm grateful you happened by." She reached out her arms to accept the girl, and Severus eyed her sceptically.

"I'm not so infirm that I can't carry a ten year old girl a few blocks," the old woman informed him.

He carefully shifted Granger into her waiting arms.

"Some ice, for the swelling, wouldn't be amiss," Severus said, and Mrs. Figg nodded with pinched lips.

The old squib turned to leave without a word.

And he said nothing, just watched as the woman and child exited into the street.

Shortly after, Severus had to reluctantly close shop and make his way to the station in order to catch the last portkey to Hogsmeade. To home. Joy.

* * *

"Severus?" a weak voice called out once he'd opened the door to their small town-house.

"I'm here," he replied, entering the sitting room.

It was dark, and his mother was sitting in her usual armchair by the hearth. The fire was all that illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows on the shelves that lined the walls and on the stacks of books which lay on every spare surface.

"You shouldn't sit in the dark," Severus said gently, not for the first time, and lit the lamps with a silent _lumos_. The room brightened considerably.

Eileen shrugged, still staring blankly into the fire. She fidgeted with a fancy quill his father once gave her, as it seemed she always was now.

His mother had never been particularly vivacious, strong, or handsome, he had to admit. But ever since his father's death, she _had_ become particularly wan, and he didn't understand it.

While his parents were genial enough, Severus had never gotten the impression that they were at all in love. They never kissed or touched each other with affection. They'd refused to get married, even, and as a consequence he was given her name—Prince—and was teased for being a bastard all throughout school. He didn't entirely hold it against them, though for a time he was very bitter. It was just a fact. A fact that made it difficult for him to comprehend her despondence at the man's death.

But enough dwelling.

"Would you like a roast for dinner?" he asked. She didn't respond. Severus sighed.

"Happy Yule, Mum," he said, letting a touch of sarcasm enter his voice. She gave him a bland smile and nodded.

He went to the kitchen and started on the roast.

* * *

Hermione sat huddled on the front steps of the orphanage on Yule day, crying. The cats crowded around her, purring and rubbing against her, but she paid them no mind. Instead she stared longingly at the streets of Diagon Alley beyond the orphanage.

Mrs. Figg was usually very kind and forgiving, almost overly so. But that morning once she'd woken up, Hermione had been summoned downstairs and given the most stern talking to of her life. It was especially humiliating because she knew that loads of orphans were huddled just outside the door, eavesdropping.

She was never to leave by herself again, especially not after dark, especially not to visit the "wrong sort" of people, whatever that meant. If she was caught, she'd be locked in her room for a month _without books_. To Hermione that seemed the most awful punishment anyone could ever think up.

And so now she would have to trail after other groups of orphans (who most assuredly were not her _friends_, they'd be sure to point out) if she ever wanted to go anywhere, and certainly none of them would be frequenting any bookshops, much less Mr. Prince's apothecary.

Hermione was miserable and stuck, and not even the minister's impending visit could cheer her up, or the handful of sickles she'd gotten as a Yule gift from Mr. Prince.

So she cried, and the cats around her mewed and purred.

* * *

With the elasticity of the young, Hermione recovered from the blow to her independence and fun quickly enough.

She made it through the crowded summer months when the Hogwarts students returned. Although there was an embarrassing incident where a couple stumbled upon her in the attic... They were so distracted they didn't notice her until she ran to the stairs, red-faced.

And she made it through them leaving again, though she was disappointed she wouldn't be going with them. Hogwarts sounded like an incredible place, and to think of everything she would _learn_! If only her birthday was just a few weeks earlier.

And then it was December again, and the day of the minister's annual visit arrived.

In previous years, Hermione would be downstairs with everyone else, eagerly awaiting the man's presence and gifts of tasty sweets. But a new book had just been added to the orphanage's library, so instead she was in the attic, absorbed in reading, huddled under a pile of blankets.

Which is why when the voices outside started talking, she could hear them through the crack in that one window that refused to close completely no matter how much she tugged on it. She inched closer to the window, shivering at the cold, and leaned in to hear.

"-don't know why I let you drag me here," a man's voice said with poor temper. It sounded as though he had the faintest of accents.

"It was your choice to come, and as I recall you enjoyed yourself on at least one occasion," another voice—the minister!—replied.

"That was a very isolated incident, a very long time ago. I doubt I'll ever find another of the same calibre among this lot."

"I think you're just determined to be unhappy today," the minister said with noticeable amusement and well-humoured tolerance.

"Well nothing has exactly gone as planned, has it? First-"

"Why, Arabella!" the minister interrupted jovially, "You're looking delightful, as always. Are you certain it's been an entire year? I swear you look younger."

Mrs. Figg _giggled_, and said. "Thank you, Minister. I'm very glad to see you, and the children are terribly excited as well. Do come in, I see you've brought..." Her voice faded as they entered and she shut the door.

Hermione darted to the stairs and bounded down the many stories to the first floor, very curious to see just _who_ the minister brought.

She found herself fighting through the crowds of the younger orphans, though her comparatively larger size gave her the advantage, and soon she was peering into the entry hall.

The minister was there, of course. Today his robes were an interesting shade of mauve with sparkling stars actually shooting across the fabric. He was kneeling down (his long beard trailing on the floor) next to one of the younger orphans—an adorable boy named Stephen—offering him a Licorice Wand and peering over his spectacles with a kind smile.

Beside him was another old wizard, clean shaven, with shoulder length, curly white hair, wearing much more sombre-coloured robes and standing very stiffly just inside the door. On his face was the most impressive sneer she'd seen since she first met Mr. Prince. He truly didn't seem very pleased to be there.

"Thank you, sir!" Stephen said with a gap-toothed grin, taking the Licorice Wand and munching on it happily.

"Why don't we let the minister and his friend get all the way to the sitting room," Mrs. Figg suggested gently to the children. His friend? That told her nothing. Hermione was sure the minister had a large number of friends.

The orphans obediently stepped back and made a path, through which the two wizards navigated smoothly. Hermione adjusted her position accordingly and peered into the over-crowded sitting room from the doorway.

The pair sat themselves on a sofa and the crowd swarmed in. The minister's friend looked very uncomfortable.

"Would you like to help me pass out the sweets, Gellert?" the minister asked.

"Certainly not, Albus. I fear one of my fingers would be bitten clean off should they venture too close to these... children's mouths."

The minister chuckled.

Under Mrs. Figg's watchful eye, the orphans politely (for the most part) queued up for their turn to receive a sweet. It was a lengthy process, as every child wanted to speak a few words as well.

The minister was very patient about it all. His friend... less so. He looked terribly bored.

Hermione watched silently from the hallway. It was likely this singular behaviour—every other orphan was chattering impatiently in the queue—that drew the man's attention. His startling blue eyes came to focus directly upon her face.

He frowned. She frowned back. He smirked.

"You, girl," he addressed her firmly, and a number of people looked around in confusion. "Come here." She reluctantly pressed through the crowd to come and stand by his side, ignoring the jealous glares of the other children. The minister pretended not to notice his friend's behaviour and continued to hand out sweets with a grin.

"What's your name?" the wizard demanded, staring intently into her eyes. She met his gaze steadily.

"Hermione Granger, sir," she told him.

"Do you have any... hobbies, Hermione Granger?" His faint accent was more noticeable then, though she was not experienced enough to place its origin.

"Yes, sir." He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't—with most anyone else she would be eager to share, but Hermione had for some reason decided that she didn't like this wizard. He laughed softly.

"And they are?" he drawled.

"Reading mostly, sir, and potions as well," she said, and in the spirit of being forthright, "But I'm interested in most subjects. It seems a bit early to choose favourites."

"I think I like you, Granger," he told her with a shark-like grin. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted this wizard to like her. "I look forward to seeing you progress. How old are you, ten?"

"Eleven, sir, but I'll be going to Hogwarts next year."

"Hmm..." The man grabbed a Licorice Wand from the minister's never-ending bag of sweets and handed it to her. She politely accepted it. "If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask after Gellert Grindelwald. I'll see that you get it."

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said. It was probably obvious that she wasn't very thankful at all, but he only laughed again and turned away. A clear dismissal. Taking the opportunity, she walked quickly from the room, ignoring Mrs. Figg's concerned glance.

Hermione went to her room and crawled under the covers of her bed, but the chill lingered.


	3. Step 3

**Step 3**

* * *

Suddenly it was summer again and Hermione finally received her letter from Hogwarts. Before leaving for school, all orphans would get to go on a shopping expedition alone with Mrs. Figg to purchase school supplies. It was an exciting time, especially for first-years, because they'd never before had money to buy more than the occasional sweet nor had anything to call their own except their clothes. And their clothes, all standard uniform, were _boring_.

They would only get the essentials, of course, but everything was new and of fine quality. It was on the Ministry's sickle, after all.

Hermione happily persuaded Mrs. Figg to shop in a certain order, so that—although it was usually the other way around—they would go to Ollivander's first on one end of Diagon Alley and the apothecary last on the other. Fond memories made her eager to see Mr. Prince again, though it had been so long she wasn't sure he would even remember her.

First was Ollivander's, and though it was very near the orphanage, Hermione had never been inside. She thought it would be too sad to look at all those wands and not be able to have one for herself. So she approached the door for the first time with trepidation. Mrs. Figg, however, long experienced, hustled her inside the narrow little store with efficiency.

It was a bit dark and dusty with hundreds and hundreds of boxes stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling. It was remarkable. An old man with moon-like eyes appeared from somewhere in the back.

"Ah, another of Arabella's? Welcome, welcome," he greeted softly, and with a flick of his wrist a tape measure—quite on its own—began to float around Hermione and take measurements. She was not sure how it could possibly help find her a wand, but it was fun.

"Hermione Granger, sir," she told him. Mrs. Figg stood quietly just inside the door.

"Very pleased to meet you, Miss Granger, very pleased." But he seemed distracted, his eyes flitting among the shelves in contemplation.

"Shall we try...?" A box removed itself from the shelves and floated down to Mr. Ollivander, who removed the wand inside and offered it to Hermione.

"Give it a wave," he encouraged her. She did so warily. Immediately after a few agitated sparks were released, he snatched the wand away again.

"No, no..."

And so it went. She tried many wands, sometimes she barely touched them before he took them away again. Hermione's became frustrated. What was wrong with all those other wands? Would none meet his standards?

Until finally, she handled a wand that released a lovely rainbow of sparks and Mr. Ollivander seemed pleased.

"Twelve and three quarter inches, vine wood with dragon heartstring, springy. A very good wand, Miss Granger. I expect you'll do well," he said.

Hermione smiled widely, and Mrs. Figg paid for it quickly. They continued their shopping.

After getting robes and books—Mrs. Figg had to drag Hermione away from the books—and all other supplies needed for her classes, they finally got to Mr. Prince's apothecary. She walked in quickly.

"Hello, Mr. Prince!" she said with anticipation, and the wizard stared at her for a long moment before nodding and turning back to another customer. Mrs. Figg huffed disapprovingly beside her and she felt a sharp pang in her chest. Did he not remember her?

Disappointed, Hermione waited (a bit impatiently) for the other witch to leave and then strode confidently to the counter.

"I'm here to actually _buy_ things, today, Mr. Prince," she told him, grinning, not to be deterred on that happy day.

"How delightful to see you again, Miss Granger," Mr. Prince drawled, and she felt a thrill upon realizing he _had_ remembered her! "And with the intention of making purchases as well. Do you mean to say that I'll finally be repaid for tolerating your incessant questions, after all this time?"

She nodded happily.

"I'm not sure it's a fair bargain," the wizard said, and walked around the counter. "Standard first-year set, I assume?"

Mrs. Figg nodded stiffly and Mr. Prince hesitated.

"Perhaps you can fetch me what you need, Miss Granger," he challenged with a smirk.

"I don't believe that's necessary-" Mrs. Figg began to say, but a glare from Mr. Prince led her to say no more. She tapped her foot impatiently instead. Mr. Prince's glares were powerful, indeed.

And so, under Mr. Prince's direction, Hermione scuttled around the shop fetching jars while he recited the list of common ingredients she would need for her first year. It had been a long time but she had a good memory. Only once did she need to ask where something was.

He packaged everything up and put it in a convenient carrying case for her to use at school.

"Is Borage's book still the required text?" Mr. Prince asked once Mrs. Figg had paid for the supplies. Hermione nodded. Mr. Prince scoffed.

"Rubbish book, not worth the paper it's printed on," he sneered. Mr. Prince summoned a different book from somewhere unknown and handed it to Hermione. She took it eagerly. "You'll find this much more useful than the one you've purchased."

But upon closer examination it appeared only to be a much older edition of the same text. When she flipped curiously through its yellowed pages Hermione saw that many of the words were scratched out. Handwritten notes were scrawled everywhere in the margins. She looked at him sceptically.

"It may not be as... pretty as yours," Mr. Prince told her, scowling, "But you'll find that your potions will be much improved with all of the... inaccuracies corrected."

"Thank you, sir," she said politely. Hermione was doubtful she would be assigned a book—that anyone would _publish_ a book—that was terrible as he made it sound. But surely any improvements would be welcome.

Mrs. Figg cleared her throat, clearly impatient. Neither of them paid her any mind.

"Oh!" She couldn't believe she'd almost forgotten—Hermione removed her nice new wand from where she'd placed in the sleeve of her robes. "Look!" she said, terribly excited, and gave it a wave to show off the sparks. "Isn't it brilliant?"

"Yes, very impressive," the man said with an amused smirk. "Do you suppose it does any actual spells?"

"Of course!" Hermione gasped—the very thought that it wouldn't! "But... I only know one. To fix broken things."

Very quickly, Mr. Prince jabbed his own wand at an empty jar on the counter. Mrs. Figg flinched. A flash of light and a large crack ran along the glass container, which rattled slightly in its place before settling.

"Have at it, then, Miss Granger."

She looked to Mrs. Figg, who reluctantly waved a permissive hand, and raised her new wand.

"_Reparo_!" she said and watched, pleased, as the crack repaired itself.

Mr. Prince picked up the jar and inspected it closely with a satisfied hum.

"Indeed. The wand seems to work well enough," he said. Hermione beamed.

"I think," Mrs. Figg interrupted curtly, "That Hermione and I should be getting back, now. And there are others that need to purchase supplies." She gestured to a wizard who was scanning the shelves, and Hermione knew there was at least one other orphan Mrs. Figg had to escort that day as well.

Hermione pouted, but obediently came to the woman's side and helped to gather their purchases from the day.

"As always, Mrs. Figg, I appreciate your patronage," Mr. Prince said stiffly, as if by rote.

"Thank you," Mrs. Figg acknowledged shortly while shepherding Hermione to the door.

"Thank you, Mr Prince!" Hermione shouted over her shoulder.

He simply nodded and turned his attention to his next customer.

Hermione felt a bit disappointed—she'd so wanted to show Mr. Prince all the other wonderful things that she'd gotten, that were _hers—_but found that her excitement at the prospect of reading her new books quickly overwhelmed any other feeling. The orphanage's library was rather small and catered to the juvenile tastes of most of its visitors. Only a fraction of the books were at all useful or interesting. Her new textbooks would therefore be a real treat.

Once back at the orphanage, Hermione retreated to the attic with glee.

* * *

The afternoon of September 1st found Hermione waiting eagerly in the entry hall of the orphanage. It was finally her turn to venture out of Diagon Alley, to go to Hogwarts. She was the first one downstairs and they wouldn't be leaving for another thirty minutes, but she was so excited that she'd been packed for days (not that she had a lot to pack) and woke up hours earlier than normal. Most of the other orphans were just now scrambling to gather their things.

She waited impatiently, but eventually (and largely with the help of the house elves) everyone above the age of eleven was downstairs and ready to go. The others that were to be first-years—Hannah, Alice, Liz, Justin, Nathan, and Paul—ignored her completely, chatting among themselves.

Finally, they all exited the orphanage en masse and Mrs. Figg herded them to the portkey station near the Leaky Cauldron. In groups of seven the orphans took turns grabbing hold of one of the uniform ceramic discs used as portkeys and disappeared within moments.

Hermione was anxious when her turn arrived (alongside six older orphans whom she didn't know very well), but she could hardly get into a properly worked up state before some feeling tugged at her navel and with dizzying speed...

She stood in the portkey station in Hogsmeade. Hermione hastened to get out of the way of incoming travellers while one of the other orphans discarded the used portkey in the proper bin. She looked around with awe.

There were witches and wizards _everywhere_! All bustling about with purpose; it was like Yule time in Diagon Alley when everyone was out to buy gifts. The only people standing still were clearly Hogwarts students (all in uniform robes) and their parents, waiting patiently as if for direction. Hermione decided to wait as well, still examining her surroundings excitedly—though there wasn't much to see in the station packed with people.

Hogsmeade was basically the centre of Wizarding Britain due to its proximity to Hogwarts and the ease of expansion (no pesky muggles to intrude upon). Hermione had read that it was once just a small village where older Hogwarts students could frolic on special weekends, but after the Wall was built and wizards could no longer live among muggles, they congregated mostly in Hogsmeade. Building homes and shops and a small school (for the young children of middle-class families who could afford a primary education outside the home, but could't afford private tutors) until Hogsmeade became a decent sized city. The only city in Wizarding Britain. There were other small communities and shopping districts scattered across Britain, of course, but Hogsmeade was by far the largest.

Hogwarts students were now only permitted to travel to Hogsmeade on special weekends when accompanied by a parent or guardian, since it was no place for children to be wandering unescorted. Some parents had, over the years, expressed a wish to keep their children living with them in Hogsmeade during their school years, actually, since it was so close—but Hogwarts and the Ministry had kept firm in the traditional boarding school by citing the independence, camaraderie, and sense of responsibility that the students gained from their time there.

Children continued to arrive via portkey, though none grouped together like the orphans, and many with their families. Eventually the number arriving decreased, and then stopped. Those heading to Hogwarts created a clear blockage of traffic in the station, which set many a wizard to grumbling and cursing as they attempted to pass through.

Finally, at five o'clock precisely, a magically amplified voice called out,

"Hogwarts students, please proceed to the carriages directly outside the station with your belongings." And then the witch's voice said in a sharper tone, "I remind you that any who attempt to wander off will find themselves punished _severely_. Thank you."

All at once the students burst into movement; grabbing their things, saying final goodbyes to family, and migrating as a herd toward the entrance of the station. Hermione found herself pulled along with them, though she didn't mind a bit.

Now outside, she found herself again in awe. A veritable army of open black carriages created an impressive formation on the cobbled streets, waiting to be filled. Many of the younger students made a mad dash for the front carriages only to be bullied by those older into giving up their spots.

Not one to create conflict, Hermione made her way slowly to a carriage in the back and took a seat after placing her trunk underneath the bench. Shortly a blonde, round-faced boy and a freckled red-head sat across from her. She recognized them as some who had tried to grab a front carriage, and they looked rather peeved about their failure.

The blonde one was struggling to keep a toad from jumping out of his pocket, and she watched curiously until the reptile finally jumped free. Hermione managed to trap it with her hands on the floor of the carriage and returned it.

"Thanks," the boy grumbled and glared at the still-squirming creature. The red-head laughed.

"Your pet's rubbish, mate," he ribbed, "Why didn't you just get an owl?"

"Trevor's a gift from my Great Uncle Algie, Mum said I had to take care of it," the blonde replied petulantly. Hermione reflected on her sadness at not having been able to bring Tibbles. He would have been a nice pet. But he wasn't her cat, after all. Maybe someday she would get a familiar of her own.

At which point they were joined in the carriage by another boy, this one with untamed black hair and glasses. He seemed young enough to be another first-year. The blonde and red-head took a sudden interest.

"Hey, I'm Ron Weasley, and this is my mate, Neville Longbottom," the red-headed boy said, "Who're you?"

Hermione wondered if she ought to be offended that they didn't ask after _her_, but figured it was because she was a girl. Boys were all the same.

"Harry Potter," he said, and turned to Hermione with a slight curiosity.

"Hermione Granger," she told him, appeased at his interest. Well, maybe not _all_ boys were gits.

Things seemed to have settled down around the carriages, all the students having found themselves a seat. Within minutes the carriages at the front of the procession started to jerk forward according to some unseen signal.

The whole train began to move along, from cobbled street to dirt road, through the throngs of passers-by, past the shops and neighbourhoods filled with town-houses, and away from Hogsmeade.

"Which house do you think you'll be in?" Ron asked Harry, who shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno either. My family's all Gryffindor. Which is the most brilliant house, I think. But I'm not sure I want to be in there with my brothers." He made a sour face. "Really any of them are fine, I guess, except Hufflepuff."

Neville looked offended.

"Oh, come on," Ron wheedled, "You know they're just a bunch of pansies. Er, your dad is cool, though," he hastened to add.

Hermione was amused. She'd never heard such bias toward or against a house from someone not already affiliated with one. The houses had their rivalries, of course, and their own qualities, but aside from speculating about what house they would be in the younger orphans tended to remain neutral.

"My parents were both Gryffindor," Harry said.

"Wicked!" Ron grinned.

"My mum was a Ravenclaw," Neville said, presumably for Harry's benefit.

"What about your parents?" Harry asked Hermione, and for some inexplicable reason she felt embarrassed. She didn't have a family history like these boys did.

"Oh... I'm an orphan," she explained quietly and stared at her hands. So she didn't see the slight sneer on Ron's face, but Hermione heard it in his tone when he said,

"You mean you're a _mudblood_?"

"That's rude, Ron," Neville chided, though he didn't seem terribly concerned. Hermione nodded slowly, and Ron scoffed.

"Should have known from your fancy robes," the red-head mumbled bitterly.

Not quite sure what he meant, Hermione looked surreptitiously at _their_ robes and realized that, although they were all of the same uniform cut required, hers _did_ seem to be of a finer fabric with a more decorative stitch. Harry's didn't even look new, but instead were faded and patched in spots. It was odd, she wasn't sure why that was.

So she said nothing. Harry, however, defended with a frown,

"My mum came from muggles. Nothing wrong with that."

Ron subsided with a huff, though he looked at Harry then with a bit of new-found scorn.

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts was spent in a tense silence until they were rewarded with their first awe-inspiring view of the castle as they approached the gates.

It looked _enormous_. And brilliant. The grounds were a wide expanse of beautiful land such as she'd never seen. There was a large forest of trees, and even a _lake_ could be seen on its other side.

The carriages dropped them off at the front entrance and then made their way to somewhere unknown until they were needed again. The students placed their things in a pile just inside the front doors, apparently the house-elves were to take them to their rooms.

They were greeted there by a curiously short, older wizard. Hermione wondered if he didn't have a bit of goblin ancestry.

"First-years, stay with me," the man squeaked repeatedly, "Everyone else may enter the Great Hall."

The older students passed him casually, occasionally giving him respectful greetings on their way through some doors on the right which Hermione had to assume led to the Great Hall. The first-years waited impatiently, chattering excitedly as they looked around with wonder.

"Is that another Weasley?" a pointy-faced, blonde boy said with disgust. "I thought they would have stopped far earlier—how many has it been, now? Six? No wonder he looks so low-class if his parents have to care for that many brats." A few people around him snickered. Thankfully, Ron didn't seem to have heard or she could only imagine what sort of fight might have broken out.

Finally only the first-years were left in the entry hall, and the short wizard said,

"Greetings, students. I am Professor Flitwick, the Deputy Headmaster and Head of Ravenclaw House. I also teach charms. Now as I'm sure you know, Hogwarts has four houses named after its four founders: Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. Each house is characterized by certain prized qualities, mascots, and colours. Soon we will enter the Great Hall, at which time you will be sorted into one of these houses.

During your time here at Hogwarts, your House will be very much like a family. Together you will live, eat, and study. Both your accomplishments and your mistakes will be reflected in a system of points, which are gained or lost for your house. At the end of each year, these points are tallied and the house with the most points receives the House Cup.

I'd like to remind you, however, that Hogwarts is primarily a _learning_ institution, and I expect you to devote most of your energies to your education, not rivalry. Rest assured that doing well academically and staying out of trouble is the best thing you can do to promote your house.

Any questions? No? Excellent. Follow me, please."

The first-years followed Professor Flitwick obediently to the doors leading to the Great Hall.

They entered, and no one could suppress a gasp.

The Great Hall was huge, with four extremely long tables decorated with house colours leading to a shorter, elevated table lying perpendicular at the front of the hall, where it seemed the staff sat. But most impressive was the vaulted ceiling, which was enchanted to reflect the sky outside. At first Hermione thought that there was no ceiling at all until she realized the trick.

The first-years, all feeling rather intimidated with the eyes of the entire school upon them, shuffled down the length of the hall in a tight group behind Professor Flitwick who led them right to the front. Standing on her toes, Hermione could see that an old, unassuming hat sat on a stool in front of the staff's table.

She recognized that it must be the Sorting Hat, which she had read about in _Hogwarts, A History_. For a long time the method of sorting students remained a mystery to her, as the older orphans kept alive the tradition of teasing the younger children about the rigorous sorting process, but after reading that book she knew it was nonsense.

Hermione waited expectantly and was rewarded when the brim of the worn hat tore open and began to sing a song about the founders of Hogwarts and their intelligence, cunning, bravery, and loyalty. Many of the children around her were startled, however. She was pleased to know something they didn't.

Once the song was over and everybody clapped, Professor Flitwick cleared his throat and said loudly as he unrolled a long parchment,

"When I call your name, please sit on the stool and place the hat on your head."

He began calling names alphabetically by last name. After each student sat down, the Sorting Hat would call out their house. "Abbott, Hannah" was one of the first (Hufflepuff), followed by names like "Black, Alexander" (Slytherin).

After a time the hat called "Granger, Hermione," and she sat on the stool nervously as the hat's overly-large brim slipped over her eyes.

_Hmm..._ a voice seemed to whisper into her mind. _You're certainly intelligent enough for a Ravenclaw and clever enough for a Slytherin, although I suppose Salazar's directions circumvent _that_. I believe you have a great capacity for justice and loyalty as well. But I sense... _Hermione waited patiently, without preference. _Yes. Better be_-

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted. The declaration rung around Hermione's ears as she removed the hat and scrambled to the Gryffindor table amid loud applause. She sat somewhere near the end where there was the most space. Other Gryffindors nodded at her politely, and she sat waiting for the ceremony to end.

Neville became a Gryffindor as well, which she was ambivalent about, followed by Harry (she was pleased), and Ron (she was not very happy about that). Alice and Nathan, from the orphanage, too, with a bunch of other people she didn't recognize.

Hermione was happy when Harry decided to sit next to her, but was rather disappointed when Ron found a seat just a few places down and across with Neville.

And then the sorting was over and the older witch who was sitting in the larger, centre chair at the staff's table stood and cleared her throat with magically amplified volume. The students quickly hushed.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, new and returning students," she said. Hermione recognized her voice as the one which spoke at the Hogsmeade station. "For those who do not know me, I am Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts. You will get to know your other professors in due course. Before we begin our meal, I would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is, as always, forbidden, and that agitating the inhabitants of the Black Lake will not be tolerated." The Headmistress seemed to address particularly some student or students farther up the Gryffindor table. A few people laughed. "Also, wands are not to be used in the halls, curfew is at ten o'clock, and classes start tomorrow morning. That being said, please enjoy the feast."

Professor McGonagall sat, and suddenly plates full of delicious-smelling food covered the previously-empty tables. The students dug in excitedly, Hermione among them.

Upon taking that first, scrumptious bite of pot pie, Hermione decided that she'd quite like being at Hogwarts.


	4. Step 4

**Step 4**

* * *

Very quickly, Hermione decided that Weasleys were utterly bonkers.

The oldest, Percy, (a prefect) wasn't so bad, but that sort of obsequious properness and anal need to have everything "just so" got on even Hermione's nerves eventually.

On the opposite spectrum, the twins, Fred and George, were obnoxious rule-breakers. Always joking, teasing, pranking, turning people into things. Thankfully, Hermione had only seen it from afar, she'd never been the focus of their unique "humour."

And Ron was just a prat.

During breakfast their first day of classes, she could hear him bragging to some other first-years about his father's important position within the Ministry.

"He works with _muggles_," the red-head said loudly with an over-dramatic shudder. "I mean, there are still sightings of things like giants and werewolves and garden gnomes, or whatever, and _someone_ has to make sure they don't remember, to keep us safe. It's wicked dangerous, dealing with muggles... He gets paid a lot because of the danger."

Most of his audience was suitably impressed, though Hermione subtly rolled her eyes. She had a hunch that the extra pay was to make him keep his gob shut about the muggle world more than because dealing with muggles—who didn't even have _magic—_was particularly hazardous.

And then before their first class, transfiguration, he decided it was very important to let everyone know of his familial connections while they were waiting for the professor to arrive.

"He's my uncle, you know," Ron boasted, talking about the transfiguration professor, "My mum's brother. He comes by the Burrow all the time, likes me a lot."

Hermione felt a sort of gleeful satisfaction when the moron tried to address Professor Prewett as 'Uncle Gideon' and got thoroughly scolded. Ron spent the rest of the class flushed and scowling petulantly.

Ron Weasley also seemed to have taken it upon himself to rag on Hermione frequently. Calling her a "mudblood" or "minister's pet", and making fun of her for knowing things and reading too much. Not usually to her face, but purposely loud enough so she could hear it.

Unfortunately, though his behaviour was uncommon, his feelings weren't. Hermione discovered soon that most students felt a distinct, envious scorn for the orphans—because they were mudbloods and because their care and education were provided by the Ministry. A small fraction, like Hannah Abbott, made certain others knew that they were in fact half-bloods and purebloods, just without living relatives; but the stigma remained. When their families were struggling to pay for their tuition, books and robes, most students didn't like to be reminded that some were getting a "free ride."

Many of the orphans, like her room-mate Alice, instinctively managed to take advantage of the envy and form elitist cliques, _deigning_ to befriend others at their own whim. It only made them more popular and the other students more jealous.

But a few, like Hermione herself, were just isolated and despised. Hermione especially because she had always been a loner and, she had to admit, at times her curiosity and eagerness could be a tad off-putting.

On the bright side, most of the other students tended only to ignore her, and Hermione thought she may have actually made a friend in Harry Potter.

In the way of young children and animals, the weak were ostracised. Presumably because he was poor, Harry was also considered to be one of the weak. He was too mild-mannered and pleasant to defend _himself_, although Harry revealed a temper when he tried to defend Hermione from Ron's contempt. Which didn't help him at all because then Ron just ridiculed them both.

So naturally, they gravitated to each other. Harry wasn't very interested in his studies, but she helped him along. Hermione was gratified that he seemed to welcome her help. In return, he pulled her from her books to go outside occasionally and to play a game of Exploding Snap or the like.

It was pleasant. Though it seemed at times like they were alone against the rest of the school.

But no matter what everyone else thought of her, at least Hermione had the satisfaction of being the best in her classes. She always knew the answers to the professors' questions and could usually do a spell successfully on the first try, while everyone else had no idea what the professors were talking about and couldn't even pronounce a simple spell correctly (ahem, _Ron.) _Sometimes Hermione wondered if the other students ever actually _read_ the textbooks... if they even _could _read.

The professors loved her because she cared and was enthusiastic about what they were teaching, even if she was sometimes too... eager. This only made the other students dislike her more, of course, but the Gryffindors, at least, couldn't begrudge her all the points she earned for their house.

Actually, the only class she found at all difficult was... potions. (Well, flying, too, but she didn't care for that, anyway. She'd never been a fan of quidditch.) It surprised her, because although she arrived at Hogwarts with more knowledge of potions than probably anyone else, her potions were never exactly as they should be. They were always just a little bit off.

She was still the best in the class and Professor Slughorn had nothing but praise for her. But it was bothersome.

Eventually Hermione remembered her conversation with Mr. Prince about the text and she dug out the book he'd given her from where it had been kept in her trunk in the first-year girls' dormitory.

She studied the worn cover before carefully prying it open... and then gasped.

There, inscribed, it read that '_This Book is the Property of the Bastard Prince_'.

Hermione looked around, embarrassed, but there was no one else in the dormitory, much less peering over her shoulder. So she looked it over again.

She wondered if it was meant to suggest that his personality or legitimacy was lacking. Either way, she found it rather sad that Mr. Prince would choose to refer to himself that way. It seemed to suggest a sort of bitter pride, claiming a slur that was no doubt used to belittle him.

Turning to the first page there were directions for a simple boil cure potion. It was the first potion that her class had made, and Hermione noticed right away all of the various directions that Mr. Prince had scribbled out and "corrected." Aside from some differences in number of stirs and time to simmer, he suggested that the snake fangs should be crushed rather than powdered.

Hermione stared at the page thoughtfully, and in a sudden burst of action dashed from the dormitory—book in hand. Conveniently, Professor Slughorn had office hours in the classroom at that time before dinner.

She reached the dungeon classroom soon enough and knocked before entering. Professor Slughorn looked up curiously from his desk and beamed when he saw her.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" he said, "It's an absolute delight to see you."

"You too, sir," she said politely but impatiently, eager to skip the pleasantries. "But I was wondering..."

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping I might be able to make a simple potion, before dinner? Just a boil cure potion, nothing expensive or dangerous," she hastened to add. He looks a bit confused.

"Well, I'm not sure why... do you need to visit the Hospital Wing?"

"Oh, no! No, I just wanted to, um, experiment a bit, with the procedure," she said, blushing.

"I see, that's excellent!" Professor Slughorn looked impressed. It must seem very ambitious of a first year. "I wouldn't get too adventurous, you understand. Why don't I just cast a shielding charm, for you... Experiments can get explosive."

He obligingly set up a cauldron and helped her gather the right ingredients before casting a shielding charm as he'd said. The potions professor then returned to his desk.

"I'll just be over here marking papers. Shout if you need anything," he said pleasantly. She nodded and began.

Paying close attention to Mr. Prince's book, she stewed, stirred, and _crushed_, following his instructions exactly. And in very little time, there sat before her an absolutely _perfect_ boil cure potion, of the exact same shade of moss green and consistency described in the text.

Hermione looked at it, feeling both glad and surprisingly disappointed. It was never _her_ error, but the _book's_. The assigned textbook really was rubbish.

She heard a gasp from behind her, and she turned with a startled jump, quickly slamming Mr. Prince's book shut.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Slughorn said, looking delightedly into the cauldron. "That is the most excellent boil cure potion I've seen in _years_. I must congratulate you on your success."

"Erm, thank you, sir," she whispered, feeling ashamed. It was not _her_ success but Mr. Prince's. Those were _his_ improvements, and it felt dishonest taking the credit for it. But what else could she do?

"Do you mind if I bottle it? I don't think a potion of this quality ought to go to waste, simple or not," he said, hands already itching toward the cauldron.

"Please do, sir. Um... thank you for letting me... experiment, Professor. I'll see you in class."

And she fled the room, Mr. Prince's book in hand. She headed to the library although it was time for dinner and sat at her favourite table for a long time, staring into nothing miserably.

It had simply never occurred to her that a book could be _wrong_. That the things she'd being taught weren't already the best and most efficient methods. That the knowledge of her teachers wasn't already _perfect_ but could in fact be _improved_. She knew that no one was perfect, of course, but to find that _facts _weren't, either? Now that the question has been raised, Hermione couldn't help but question everything she'd learned.

Were there easier ways to transfigure things? Charms that no one had thought to invent? History that wasn't fact but speculation? Impossible things that may one day be possible?

She realized that she really knew nothing about anything. And especially not the mechanics of it. Hermione could memorize incantations and wand movements, follow directions and recipes better than anyone else. But _why _should the word _lumos_ illuminate surroundings; might there be a word that is better suited? _Why_ is a swish better than a flick for some charms? _Why_ would powdering the snake fangs and a few stirs make such a difference in a simple boil cure potion? What is the _theory_ behind the magic?

So many books, such an enormous resource for knowledge surrounded her in that library. Could any of them answer her questions? If not, could she possibly discover the answers herself? The idea seemed daunting.

Perhaps it was better to see if similar ground had been covered, before her. Although she would now approach the texts with a healthy amount of skepticism.

She tackled the potions section first, looking for detailed explanations about the states and interactions between ingredients.

Harry had to literally drag Hermione from the stacks that night so she didn't violate curfew. But she hardly slept, staying up reading by wandlight and ignoring her rumbling stomach.

* * *

Hermione calmed down fairly soon. It was just not worth it to kill herself by eating nothing and sleeping less expecting to be able to discover the secrets of the universe all at once, after all.

Her epiphany actually changed very little, in the end. It just meant that she wouldn't trust everything she learned as infallible. As a consequence of that lesson, however, she did start spending less time obsessing over homework and instead wrote the answers she knew they wanted, leaving herself time to pursue her own studies into _why_.

She also started experimenting with her spells, adjusting pronunciation and wand movements, sometimes with disastrous results. She never found anything that worked _better_, but she at least began to understand why spells were the way that they were.

In potions, Hermione decided not to use Mr. Prince's text because it felt dishonest. After the first time, she couldn't possibly accept Professor Slughorn's effusive praise knowing that it wasn't _her_ accomplishment. So instead she spent some of her free time each week experimenting on potions under the Professor's supervision before they worked on them in class. (Harry teased her for it, but kindly. Her swotty nature had become somewhat of an inside joke.)

The first several attempts were terrible and Professor Slughorn seems disappointed, though he assured her that "these things happen, it's all in the nature of experimentation." But slowly—with the help of her extra-curricular reading of obscure texts from the library—she improved. She began to understand _why_.

As a happy consequence, she found herself becoming more confident in her own talent and knowledge. She didn't feel a need to prove to everyone that she knew everything. Because she didn't. And for the first time she was okay with that, because no one did.

Hermione couldn't have been more pleased with the progression of her studies.

Now October, (her birthday on September 19th had passed pleasantly in Harry's company, he gave her a Chocolate Frog), Hermione decided to send an owl to Mr. Prince. She was grateful that the students could use the school's owls since she didn't have one of her own.

She was not sure that Mr. Prince would really welcome her letter, but she decided to write him anyway in order to thank him for the book (even if she didn't use it) and explain everything she'd been doing to improve her knowledge. She had the feeling that he would be proud.

Indeed, when—not too far from Hogwarts in his Hogsmeade town-house—Severus received the girl's letter, he felt a surprising warmth and satisfaction. He'd managed to teach her something useful.

He penned a reply that read: "_I'm pleased it has finally sunk in that the world is full of incompetent dunderheads. Regards, S. Prince._"

* * *

Harry was surprisingly curious about life at the orphanage. Hermione supposed it must be because his mother grew up there, too. She was surprised he didn't already know, then, but was happy enough to talk about it.

"So you never knew your parents at all?" he asked one evening in the common room while they were working on homework.

"No, I was only a couple years old when the Ministry brought me to the orphanage," she told him evenly. At times she thought she would have liked to know them... but if she did, she would miss them, wouldn't she? Maybe it _was_ better this way.

"Wow. That's... sad. I dunno what I would do without my parents, and with so many other kids around! I always wanted a brother or sister, though."

Hermione nodded with a 'hmm,' focusing on her essay. Harry, of course, wanted to avoid working on his.

"Hey! You said an old squib... Mrs. Fib took care of you? But how does she do that? I mean, if you were just a toddler, and with all those other orphans were around..."

"Mrs. Figg, Harry, and she actually has a lot of help from the house-elves," she said, exasperated. "When we're older, we have to help with the younger ones, too. There's a whole system. It works."

"Oh, house-elves. That makes sense." He was silent for only a few moments. "I've never seen a house-elf, actually. What're they like?" Hermione actually stopped to think.

"Well... they're very short, sort of like goblins, and kind of wrinkly with really big ears," she mused, "They talk funny and have odd names, but all together are nice and very much want to please. They get guilty, too, if they feel like they didn't do a good job helping you. Sometimes you have to stop them from hurting themselves, which is kind of scary."

"Huh."

She went back to her essay.

"Hey, Hermione?"

"What, Harry?" She threw down her quill with a sigh, resigned to getting no work done.

"Hogwarts has house-elves right?"

"Yes, Harry, Hogwarts has house-elves," Hermione said slowly.

"But we never see them."

"And?"

"And, where do you suppose they are?"

"The kitchens, probably," she told him. That was the standard for house-elves, as far as she knew. Kitchens were their domain.

"Oh... Where's that?"

"Under the Great Hall, I think." She'd read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_.

"Hmm... I think we should go find them," he said, and stood from the cushy chair.

"What, now? It's almost curfew!"

"So?" Harry shrugged with a mischievous smile.

"So..." Hermione hissed, looking around to be sure that no one is listening, "We'll be caught! And we'll lose points!"

Again he shrugged and said,

"Right, I have something that will help with that... Stay here for a second, will you?" And he disappeared up the stairs to the boys' dorms.

Hermione frowned and attempted to go back to her essay, but Harry soon returned with a curious drape of shimmering fabric.

"What's that?" she asked him, but he just smiled and beckoned her to follow. He headed toward the portrait to leave the common room.

"Harry!" she whined, "You can't just-" But he was already through the portrait-hole. "Oh!" she huffed and stormed after. A few students noticed their exit but made no move to stop them.

She confronted him in the hall.

"What do you think you're _doing_?" she growled, "There are only minutes until ten o'clock, and we can't-"

Her rant was effectively interrupted when Harry swirled the shimmering fabric—which turned out to be a cloak—around himself and just... disappeared.

"What do you think?" he said, though she couldn't see him at all. He was... invisible?

"Um..." she mumbled shakily, "That's quite... effective, Harry. I can see why you aren't terribly worried about getting caught."

"It's an invisibility cloak," he told her cheerfully. It was a bit creepy to hear his voice coming from right in front of her but not be able to see him at all. "It was my dad's, but he gave it to me before I came to Hogwarts and told me to 'have fun'. Mum doesn't know, of course, she wouldn't approve."

"Uh, neat?"

"Come on, it fits two!" he said, and a section of his robes appeared in mid-air where he lifted the cloak to let her under.

"Well... all right," she said and reluctantly joined him under the cloak. In this particular instance she had been more worried about getting caught than breaking the rules, anyway. She wanted to see the kitchens too.

They managed to find their way to the floor below the Great Hall without incident, but actually finding the kitchens proved to be a challenge. Since there didn't seem to be any doors, they took inspiration from Gryffindor's entrance and looked for a portrait. They saw one that seemed promising, a very large bowl of fruit (fitting), but weren't sure how to get through it. They spoke random words and phrases which seemed likely passwords, but when that failed they eventually just groped its surface and frame with their hands hoping to find a latch.

That seemed to do it. When one of Harry's hands brushed a pear the portrait swung open. He gave a quiet cry of victory and they slipped inside.

The kitchen turned out to be even larger than the Great Hall with four long tables and a shorter one perpendicular to match those upstairs, all in the centre of the room. The edges were filled with various kitchen equipment and dozens of busy house-elves, working even then.

Hardly did they step inside before one of the house-elves came up to them and offered them piles of snacks. Hermione was used to such behavior, but Harry seemed to find it a bit startling and talked to the house-elf (Moddy) nervously. They had a grand time and made it back to the Gryffindor common room in high spirits (although they had a close call with Mr. Filch's cat on the fourth floor.)

Hermione thanked him for convincing her to go and was about to retire upstairs when Harry called,

"Hermione?" She stopped and looked at him curiously.

"Yes, Harry?"

"You don't think—I mean, the house-elves seemed really happy to help us, right?"

"Of course, they always are."

"Right... I just wonder... they seem pretty smart. And they do a lot for us. But they don't even get paid, do they?" Harry asked quietly. Money _would_ be a concern for him, wouldn't it? She knew his family had struggled with finances since his paternal grandparents disowned his father for marrying a mudblood. And his parents didn't make much.

"I don't think they do, they're just... bound," Hermione frowned. She never thought to wonder; house-elves had always just been there. But it didn't seem very fair, did it?

"Right," he said, looking thoughtful. And now Hermione couldn't help but be thoughtful, too. "Right. Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight, Harry," she said quietly, and left him in the common room. The joy from their adventure had faded and she was left wondering what other injustices she might have missed that were right there in front of her, what else she may not have noticed because it was familiar.

* * *

In one of the obscure books that she found deep in the library, she read about a wizard named Nicolas Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, who supposedly managed to create a stone that could grant immortality. The couple had been been alive for centuries as a consequence.

She was curious to find out if it were true, and so she asked Professor Slughorn because he was the only Professor with whom she spent any length of time outside of classes.

"Yes, it's very true, Miss Granger," he told her, to her surprise. "I even met them once. A lovely couple. But sadly, they decided to destroy the Stone and passed on a number of years ago. They didn't want it getting into the wrong hands, I suppose."

"Oh, thank you, sir." And she returned to her potion. It was a passing curiosity.

* * *

The months passed without much of interest happening. Although Ron did his best to lose Gryffindor the House Cup by getting caught trying to actually _duel_ a Slytherin boy by the name of Draco Malfoy after curfew. Neville was with him as his second. Ron and Malfoy seemed to be mortal enemies for reasons unknown to Hermione. And she was not really sure who she'd rather come out the victor of their tiffs. Malfoy was a huge prat himself, but since he mostly kept to his Slytherin friends and ignored Hermione and Harry she eventually decided to silently root for him in future exchanges... though mutual destruction would be preferable.

Anyway, the winter holidays passed, as well. Harry went home to be with his family in Godric's Hollow while she stayed at Hogwarts. The orphans usually did, although there was no official rule against them returning to the orphanage during the break. Hermione figured that Mrs. Figg would probably prefer having fewer children to look after, however, and there were so many unread books in the library to explore.

The last few months of school were filled with—at least in Hermione's case—studying for the end-of-year exams. She eventually got Harry to study, too, although he would have much rather been at the Quidditch pitch practising his flying.

Hermione did brilliantly on the exams, of course, and Harry managed to do well, also. He could be pretty smart when he actually tried.

Ravenclaw ended up winning the House Cup, which she was told was typical. She was not surprised after hearing Professor Flitwick's mini-lecture before the sorting.

And then they were back in the carriages headed to Hogsmeade's portkey station. Hermione gave Harry a hug goodbye and promised to write, although she was not sure how she'd manage without an owl. And then she joined some other orphans around a portkey to Diagon Alley with her trunk.

She was whisked away with a tugging feeling at her navel and greeted on the other side by Mrs. Figg. Hermione smiled. She would miss Hogwarts, of course, and Harry, but there was something wonderful about coming home.

And no longer cowed by a years old memory of a scolding, she had a plan in place for some rule-breaking fun.


	5. Step 5

**Step 5**

* * *

It was just the day after Severus knew school to have let out when he was paid a visit. It took him only a moment to place the face.

"Hello, Mr. Prince!" Granger said with enthusiasm as if they were great friends. He nodded in greeting. Not much seemed to have changed about her, although she looked at least a few inches taller than he remembered.

And she apparently had still not learned her lesson about wondering Diagon Alley alone.

"How have you been?" she asked, but he just scowled as if to say "how could you ask such a foolish question?"

Her grin faltered.

Granger started to walk slowly about the apothecary, examining the barrels and shelves closely, looking for what he couldn't guess.

"You know, it doesn't smell awful in here like the potions cupboard at school," she mused half questioningly as she searched. Severus scoffed.

"I should hope not. I cast several charms to eliminate vile odours from the air. No one would want to enter an establishment from which they'll exit smelling like-" he found he had to censor himself, "Ah...dead and rotting things."

After a few circles around the store, interrupted by just a few pauses, Granger stood looking around, frowning.

"I don't think there's anything unfamiliar to me, any more," the girl said, sounding surprised and not terribly pleased. "What I haven't learned about from you or Professor Slughorn, I recognize from the descriptions in books I've read. Is this it?"

"Of course not," Severus told her with a smirk. "You don't think I keep everything out here in the front like this for any dunderhead to knock over or steal? I have a separate storeroom for valuable and dangerous stock."

Granger's excited response was cut short when the apothecary's door opened with a bang. A wizard entered. His robes were enough to identify him as an auror, though Severus would have recognized him anywhere, regardless.

"Avery," Severus sneered, displeased. "How may I... assist you?" The Granger girl wisely kept her mouth shut, although she stood watching nervously.

"What's this 'Avery' business about, Severus?" the auror asked with an unpleasant smirk, "I thought we were chums. Have you gone and forgotten your school mates? Evan will be so disappointed." His words suggested hurt feelings, but his tone revealed careless amusement. "I mean, it wasn't that long ago that you-"

"Was there a point to your visit, or did you just want to _reminisce_ about old times?" Severus interrupted harshly. Avery acted surprised.

"Now, now, no need for that. I'm just thinking you didn't have to up and disappear on us, is all. I mean, you could've come around for a pint once in a while. You're no stranger, just because you couldn't take the heat, if you know what I'm saying."

"The _point_," Severus grit out. The man sighed.

"I'm just looking for some bruise-healing paste is all," he says with a huff. "Knew you were the best to come to. You always had a touch with potions."

Severus nodded stiffly and walked quickly around the counter to retrieve a container from the shelves.

"Oi, what's this?" Avery said with glee. "A mudblood? What're you doing here, girly?" When Severus whipped around with the jar in hand, the auror was looking at Granger curiously. The girl stood frozen mute in the centre of the apothecary with wide eyes, seemingly terrified.

"Her presence is absolutely none of your concern, Avery," he snapped and slammed the bruise-healing paste onto the counter. "And this paste is a galleon and two sickles."

Avery retrieved the needed coins, looking shiftily between Severus and the girl. As he paid, a sick grin slowly crawled across his face.

"Oh, I _see_. Yeah, I understand," the imbecile drawled, "You always did have a thing for mudbloods, didn't you, Severus? Well, I'm no idiot. I can see when I'm not wanted."

The auror pocketed the jar and his change while edging toward the door. Severus struggled to conceal his disgust and rage. If he opened his mouth, Severus knew he'd only spew violent threats and insults.

"Ta, mate!" Avery said jauntily and exited quickly with a wink. Severus was left feeling furious and unclean at the unspoken accusations.

"Uh... sir?" Granger whispered, shakily.

"What?" he snarled, and tried to calm himself when the girl jumped, frightened.

"Do... you, erm, know him, then?" she asked. Severus looked at her incredulously, thinking that obviously, yes, they were acquainted. What a stupid question. He sighed, and in a calmer tone informed her,

"Yes, Miss Granger. I had the unpleasant luck to attend Hogwarts with the pillock and then work with him for a few years as an auror." The girl gasped.

"You were an auror?!"

"Didn't I just say so?" he snapped impatiently. Granger looked wary, as she should.

He didn't know it before joining, of course, when he was still desperate to _be somebody _and then shove it in the face of his tormentors, but he quickly discovered that the Auror Office was filled with sadistic creeps and the department head was the biggest, creepiest sadist of them all. Not even the aurors were safe from _him;_ Severus heard rumours that he tortured the higher-ups if they so much as failed to bow upon greeting him.

So Severus quit and took over his father's apothecary, using his father's illness as an excuse, when really he was afraid of who he might become if he stayed.

The final straw was when Severus was on a fairly routine patrol of Diagon Alley at night with some fellow aurors and they came upon a small group of children who'd snuck out of the orphanage. The Lestrange bitch had wanted to make a _sport_ of them, had cast a few Cruciatus Curses and even pulled out a knife. Thankfully he'd been able to dissuade her, but only by distracting her enough with his arguments to give the orphans time to run away. Of course, then she'd turned her _sporting_ aspirations upon _him_...

Severus felt lucky to have gotten out actually, who knew what they might have done if they felt he was a threat? He had certainly strived to keep his head down, since.

"Sir?"

He was startled from his thoughts and looked at the girl standing in his apothecary, not much older than those orphans who'd been crucioed. So small and young and fragile. What was she doing here alone with a man like him?

And to think he was about to offer to show her the storeroom, to think he was fond of her.

It was indecent. Inappropriate. Dangerous.

"What, girl?" he snarled. "Do you have some purpose for loitering uselessly or are you here solely to aggravate me?"

Granger took an unconscious step backward, clearly shocked and hurt. Her eyes even began to well up as she said quietly,

"No sir, I apologize. I'll leave you be."

And hastily exited, peering nervously up and down the street through the doorway before leaving him alone in the apothecary with the knowledge that he was and always would be a bastard.

Within minutes he was closing shop early and heading to the portkey station, preoccupied with grim thoughts.

* * *

Granger did come by the next day, although she acted uncharacteristically timid. Once he led her to the storeroom and allowed her to look around, however, the girl warmed up again.

It was as she was preparing to leave again that she seemed to recall,

"Oh, sir, would you happen to have an owl? The one at the orphanage is always on some errand or other, and I'd like to send a letter to my friend, Harry."

"I do, in fact, have an owl," he informed her dryly. "And you may even use her to send your letter. Just a moment." He retrieved his old, very ordinary barn owl from the office in the back and presented her to the girl.

"Noctua," Severus told her, and she looked at the bird, grinning with amusement.

"Little owl?" she translated. "Like the constellation?"

"I must admit I'm... not terribly skilled at naming things," he said, with a hint of a smirk. Granger giggled and removed a folded letter from the pocket of her robes, tying it to Noctua's foot with a bit of string he provided her.

"It's a very nice name, sir. Very fitting..." She said, and then to the owl, "To Harry Potter, at Godric's Hollow."

Severus nearly choked as Noctua flew from the apothecary.

Harry _Potter_? Her little friend was James' and Lily's boy? Oh Merlin, the coincidence.

He managed to give Granger a pleasant nod as she thanked him and left, but then collapsed on the stool behind the counter immediately after.

_Potter_. Severus hadn't thought about that arse in a long time. After leaving school, Potter's tormenting had become secondary to the fear and confusion of being an auror, and then with his father's death and his mother's withdrawal, it had all seemed so juvenile and distant. (That didn't prevent him from feeling smug when he heard about Black's tragic, drunken broom accident, however. The moron tried to play while completely pissed and got his skull smashed in as a consequence.)

Lily, though... he thought of her fairly frequently and with some regret.

Even before Hogwarts, Severus would sometimes see her in Diagon Alley, wandering the streets or having some ice cream at Fortescue's with her little orphan friends. Even at that young age, he had singled her out as extraordinary. He thought she was striking. He wanted to be her friend, and when they went to Hogwarts, he was.

Soon after arriving at Hogwarts, where Severus became a Slytherin and she a Gryffindor, Lily's friends had decided for a time—in the fickle and dramatic way of young girls—to shun her for no apparent reason. It was in that short period when she was alone and miserable that Severus gathered the courage to finally approach her. Lily was grateful, and life was grand. Even once her other friends _charitably_ took her back, the two would study together in the library, and she would smile and wave in the halls.

In later years, Severus had even fancied himself in love with her.

But then, James Potter, his greatest tormentor (there had been many but that boy was the worst), "turned a new leaf" and began to court her. Lily was smitten, and his furious argument only drove her away. They became distant, and by the time they left Hogwarts, were barely speaking.

Last he heard, the two were married and had a son. A son named Harry Potter.

Severus shuffled some parchment on the counter, frowning.

It had been long enough that any dreams or desires to be with Lily had been thoroughly crushed, but he still had regret. She was his best... only real friend, and yet he hadn't seen or spoken to her in over twelve years. There was nothing that prevented him from re-establishing some sort of friendly connection. Nothing but his pride and uncertainty. She was only an owl away. But would she welcome such an overture? An interruption into her likely joyful and idyllic life? He doubted it.

So he did nothing. He just stood with a self-loathing scowl and stomped to the back of the apothecary, intending to drown his maudlin regrets with some brewing.

* * *

It was early August, and Hermione was again in the attic when she was interrupted by a strange incident (really, it seemed the attic wasn't as solitary as she once thought.)

She was in her hidden little corner with one of her texts for the upcoming year (on top of the blankets, since the heat at that time was stifling,) when she heard the groaning of the narrow, wooden staircase. Hermione waited quietly, and was glad for her forbearance when a wizard entered, not another orphan as she'd thought.

But not just any wizard. _Merlin_! It was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement! She would have recognized his face anywhere after seeing it on all those anti-sedition posters for years. He looked rather sickly in real life, however. Gaunt cheeks and sallow skin, sunken eyes that seemed blood-shot.

Those eyes scanned the attic intently as the man illuminated his wand, and Hermione quietly sunk farther in the blankets. What on earth could he possibly be doing _t__here_? There were no secret gatherings or convicts or anything at all interesting up _t__here_, just a bunch of dusty old trinkets... _Oh_, but maybe-? Hermione had never heard that he might be an orphan. But maybe he was retrieving something for someone else.

The wizard seemed to find what he was looking for in an old, worn trunk—thankfully in the opposite corner from where she sat. He approached it quickly and shoved it open with a wave of his wand, rifling around for a moment before pausing and pulling something small out.

Hermione couldn't really see since his back was to her, but when he stood and turned with a smug smirk, there was a small box in his hand, no bigger than his palm.

He exited immediately after that, leaving Hermione to breathe deeply in an attempt to calm her racing heart.

* * *

It was September 1st again, and Hermione was on her way back to Hogwarts. She reached the Hogsmeade station feeling like a seasoned pro, waiting for the headmistress's direction to go to the carriages while looking around for Harry eagerly.

It was difficult to see with so many people in the way, but eventually Hermione thought she spotted him and quickly dragged her trunk in that direction. Sure enough, she recognized his untameable hair and round glasses and was soon standing beside him.

"Hi, Harry!" she said, smiling brightly, and gave him a tight hug like she hadn't seen him in ages. Which she hadn't since neither of them had the money or permission to get a portkey to visit. But they managed to write fairly frequently.

"Hey, Hermione," he said with a lopsided grin, and quickly returned her hug before looking up to a witch and wizard who Hermione just then noticed. They must be his parents! The wizard looked just like Harry with the dark, messy hair and glasses, and at first she didn't see the resemblance between her friend and the pretty red-head, but then Hermione saw the green eyes. Just like Harry's.

"Uh, hello, sir, ma'am," she told them and curtsied awkwardly, not sure how one was expected to treat the parents of one's best friend.

They smiled kindly.

"No need for that sort of formality," the man said and ruffled her hair with a grin, "Harry here has talked about you so much I feel like we met ages ago."

"He has," the woman agreed, and bent to give Hermione a brief hug, "But I'm so glad to finally meet you in person. I'm Lily, and this fool is my husband, James."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Hermione said politely, and again curtsied. James and Harry laughed while Lily smirked.

Then the headmistress's amplified voice echoed throughout the station, instructing the students to proceed to the carriages.

Harry's parents surrounded the boy in a big hug. He squirmed and tried to pull away but they didn't release him for a good many seconds.

"I expect you to get into plenty of trouble, make your dad proud," James said wickedly, and Lily elbowed him.

"_Study_," she said, "And have fun, but not too much."

"_Yes, mum_," Harry mocked, and quickly backed up, "But we gotta go now! Bye!"

Harry grabbed Hermione by the elbow and hastened away.

"We love you!" Lily shouted, and Harry blushed. Hermione giggled but said nothing.

They caught a carriage with some first-years, including an excitable orphan whom Hermione knew,named Colin Creevey. Unfortunately the younger boy never stopped talking the entire way to the castle, and Hermione exited the carriage gratefully.

She and Harry dropped their things just inside the doors and continued into the Great Hall, finding a place at the Gryffindor table.

The sorting was over with soon enough, although Hermione was a bit horrified when she saw another Weasley, a girl named Ginevra. Hopefully that one wouldn't be as bad as the boys, but she doubted it.

After a delicious feast, the students retired to their common rooms. Hermione only stayed up for a bit before going to bed, knowing that there were classes in the morning. She was too excited to fall asleep immediately, however, and stared at the ceiling for a while wondering what her second year at Hogwarts might bring.

* * *

Interesting things, as it turned out.

It was only a week into the school year but a scandal was already circulating the Hogwart's rumour mill with a furor. Even Hermione, who wasn't terribly social and had no use for gossip, heard all about it by Monday afternoon.

Apparently over the weekend Gellert Grindelwald and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and got into an argument. This argument, according to gossip, escalated into a full out duel and several people were injured, not to mention the damages to the premises. Purportedly, Mr. Grindelwald was trying to take something of the other wizard's, who was having none of it.

Of course, given that most people heard of the incident through a friend's sibling's co-worker's uncle's client or some-such, it could easily have been complete nonsense. But possibly the core of it was true.

It was this rumour which was the focus of Hermione's thoughts, weeks later, when she and several other Gryffindors who had just left dinner and were on their way to the common room, came across the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement himself wandering the seventh floor.

They collectively halted, surprised, and stared at him curiously. The wizard stopped his pacing in return and stared back at them with a terrible scowl and a raised eyebrow. He looked agitated. A glint of reflecting light attracted Hermione's attention to his hand, where he held a small, leather-bound book to his chest. He was wearing a gaudy silver ring she didn't recall seeing during the summer.

It was a bit of lucky timing that brought the headmistress down the other end of the corridor at that moment, or maybe she knew somehow that the wizard was there. Professor McGonagall gave the huddle of Gryffindors a disapproving frown before turning her attention to the man in front of them.

"Mr. Riddle," she said firmly from behind the students, "I believe you understand the importance of the rule, given your preoccupation with safety, which forbids any who are not staff or students from wandering Hogwarts unaccompanied? Perhaps you should set an example by following it."

Mr. Riddle looked angry and trapped, his eyes darting between the faces of the Gryffindor students before shoving past them with a growl. Poor Ginny Weasley was knocked to the floor.

"Indeed, _Minerva_, I apologize. I simply thought I'd take a moment to reminisce," he said, smoothly now, his temper masked.

"I find the seventh floor a rather curious place to do so, Tom," the headmistress said with a cool tone, "But perhaps we can continue this discussion in my office?" Her eyes came to glare at the students as if to say, "what are you still doing here?"

The Gryffindors scrambled to get on their way, no match for Professor McGonagall's glare. Hermione lingered to help Ginny up, but Mr. Riddle only said,

"An excellent idea," and swept down the hall toward the stairs, the headmistress following.

While assisting the younger girl in gathering her things—she had found that the youngest Weasley was actually very acceptable, just an ordinary, if occasionally quiet, girl—Hermione didn't notice that one of the books she handed to Ginny was the same small, leather-bound book that the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been carrying just moments ago.

* * *

When she told Harry of the incident (who had stayed behind at dinner to grab some extra pudding) he shared with her a ridiculous conspiracy theory about how Mr. Riddle's visit was tied to the argument with Gellert Grindelwald weeks ago; that perhaps Mr. Riddle had come to Hogwarts to hide whatever it is that Mr. Grindelwald wanted to take, and was angry because he was interrupted.

Hermione rolled her eyes. What nonsense.

* * *

Hermione was, however, curious to learn more about Mr. Riddle and what sort of man would allow his subordinates to get away with anything as Mr. Prince once said.

So one evening in Professor Slughorn's classroom when she was experimenting on a potion, she asked him,

"Professor? What do you know about Tom Riddle?"

He looked rather shocked.

"Tom Riddle? Well, he was one of my own students..." he replied hesitantly. But then warmed up to the subject. He always liked to talk about 'his' successes. "But he was very bright. Brilliant even. He came from the orphanage himself, though he was a half blood. His parents died very early on, I think." He paused.

"The minister's close friend, Gellert Grindelwald, took a shine to him from a young age. Grindelwald practically adopted the boy, I'd say. They met frequently throughout Tom's years at Hogwarts, I know, though it seems the minister himself never could make it to their luncheons in Hogsmeade. I suppose he was too busy. Tom's very successful now, of course. Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Very powerful."

His words would usually have been boastful, but they were just matter of fact, even wary.

"That's about all I can tell you, Miss Granger..." Professor Slughorn said, looking oddly regretful. "Was there anything else?"

"No, sir, thank you."

She returned to her potion, mind busy with curious speculation.

* * *

Hermione worried about Ginny. Although they were not at all friends, it seemed like the girl was been becoming more withdrawn over the months. Her deterioration was even more striking when she returned from the winter break and the change appeared less gradual. The younger girl was sullen and far too thin, with dark shadows under her eyes. Her brothers didn't seem to notice at all, of course. The gits.

She wondered if she ought to approach the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor Prewett. But Hermione was sure her interference would be unwelcome. When she asked Ginny how she was doing the red-head snapped back that she was "fine" with a nasty glare.

So she backed off. It was none of her business, really.

* * *

And then a few days before the end-of-year exams, something very... _interesting_, indeed, occurred.

At breakfast one morning, there arose a flurry of whispers from the older students, while the staff was unusually stoic. Curious, Hermione asked Percy Weasley what was going on. Seemingly at a loss for words, he just shook his head and handed her a copy of the _Daily Prophet_, which she brought back to the other end of the table where the younger students sat.

For once, she was the centre of attention from her classmates while she unfolded the _Prophet_ and read the front page.

"Oh," she murmured.

"What?" "What is it?" they asked.

"Is it bad?" Harry asked with concern.

"It seems that Tom Riddle, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was found dead in his home yesterday," she told them as she skimmed the article. "Natural causes, it says. He passed peacefully."

There was a sharp, distressed cry from a little further down the table. She and others watched startled as Ginny Weasley stood with watery eyes and ran from the Great Hall. Another first-year girl snorted and said with distaste,

"Don't worry about her, she just has a _crush_ is all. Even has one of those posters of the old fart up by her bed."

A few students laughed meanly, while Hermione looked over the rest of the _Prophet_. But nothing else significant seemed to have happened.

She was not really sure how to feel about it. On one hand, someone she sort of knew, or at least saw once or twice, was dead now. On the other hand, she had gotten the impression he wasn't a nice person and allowed the aurors to do terrible things.

So she shrugged and moved on with her day. People died all the time, after all.

* * *

Hermione only got an idea of the true significance of the event when she heard rumours of upset within the Ministry. Some of the aurors especially, it seemed, weren't at all pleased with their leader's passing. They were claiming Mr. Riddle was murdered and were out for blood because of it.

It took some heavy handling from the minister to calm them down, and they were satisfied only when one of their own, a wizard named Yaxley, was promoted to department head.

But most of that passed right by Hermione's notice, who was far too concerned with her exams to worry about politics, only too happy to leave that sort of thing to the adults.


	6. Step 6

**Step 6**

* * *

Mrs. Figg found Hermione in the large kitchen having a mid-day snack.

"You have a letter from Hogwarts, dear," the woman told her, and Hermione took the parchment curiously. Normally the orphans' letters were all combined per year and sent to Mrs. Figg. She had no idea why she would be receiving a letter addressed to her, alone. But sure enough, _Hermione Granger_, was written in fancy print across the front of it

"Thank you, Mrs. Figg," she said politely, and unfolded it as the woman left. It read:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_In choosing your courses for next year, you seem to have selected all of them. I'm afraid such a schedule would be impossible, and will have to ask you to reply within the next week specifying which elective classes (and no more than three) you should like to take. If you do not, the deputy headmaster shall be forced to decide for you as he arranges your timetable._

_I apologize for any disappointment or inconvenience. I hope your summer is going well._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

Hermione actually began to tear up, but thankfully only the house-elves were around to see it. It's a _terrible_ disappointment. And how could she possibly choose? Mind you, divination sounded a bit woolly, but she still wanted to take it!

She moped around for the rest of the day, trying to figure out what to do. There had to be _some_ way! Really, she'd do anything, even alternate between which classes she attended. Hermione knew she could keep up. If only she could convince the headmistress...

In a stroke of devious brilliance, Hermione realized that there probably _was_ someone who could convince the headmistress. The Minister for Magic. Or perhaps a close friend of his.

It seemed terribly manipulative, but surely it would be harmless? Hermione scrambled to find a blank piece of parchment and carefully penned a letter.

_Dear Mr. Gindelwald_, she wrote.

_I don't know if you'll remember me, sir, but I'm an orphan you spoke with briefly just before Yule a couple years ago_, _Hermione Granger_._ You mentioned that I might contact you if I ever needed anything..._

* * *

Her reply came the very next day, accompanied by another letter from Hogwarts. Mrs. Figg gave them to her with raised eyebrows and a smile.

"Let me know if you should need an owl to reply," she said.

Hermione opened the letter from Hogwarts first, eager.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_As it happens, I have found a way for you to take all elective courses available. I warn you, however, that it will be very strenuous, and I would not be surprised if you chose to drop any of them at some point in the future._

_If you would please join me in my office behind the gargoyle statue on the seventh floor after the feast on September 1st, I shall speak to you of the details of what will be required of you. The password is 'Cailleach.'_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Headmistress_

Yes! Success! She moved on to the other letter. Though it was written on high quality paper and sealed elaborately, it was very informal. _Granger _was scrawled simply across the front. Hermione felt a bit of a magical tingle as she opened it.

_Indeed, I had almost forgotten you. But it pleases me that I could assist in such an ambitious endeavour. You have quite a bit of gall, girl, to ask a near stranger to step in on your behalf. I approve. _

_You will join me on the first Hogsmeade weekend for lunch at the Three Broomsticks. I will see that the proper arrangements are made._

_G.G._

Hermione's excitement was curbed considerably by the wizard's _demand_ to meet with him. She was reminded unpleasantly that Mr. Grindelwald once met with Mr. Riddle in a similar manner when the younger wizard was a student. The two were apparently friends of a sort. Considering what she knew of Mr. Riddle, what did that friendship say about Mr. Grindelwald?

And _why_ should he want to meet with a Hogwarts student? Why did he ever meet with Mr. Riddle? The whole situation bothered her.

But something couldn't be received for nothing and she brought it on herself, she supposed. And really, what was a little lunch? So they would talk, and it might be unpleasant, but it would be worth it to take all those classes.

Out of guilt or wariness, she didn't mention the exchange to anyone.

* * *

That summer, Hermione began to help Mr. Prince brew some of the simpler potions he stocked. It was after a couple of occasions that Mr. Prince thought to say,

"I suppose I ought to be giving you some sort of pay, now that you seem to be working for me."

"Really?" she asked with a huge grin, and he raised an eyebrow.

"I said it because I meant it, yes, but if you're going to ask foolish questions, I'm not sure I can stand to have you as an employee." He smirked when she looked distressed.

Foolish questions or no, he began to pay her two galleons and eight sickles a week for helping him about an hour a day. To Mr. Prince it was probably very little, but to Hermione it seemed a fortune. She saved it diligently, and by the end of August, she thought she had enough to buy a familiar of her own.

So one afternoon Hermione entered the Magical Menagerie with excitement while Tibbles chose to loiter outside. She could have gotten an owl, which would perhaps be more practical, but she had never found them to be very good company. So instead she looked at the toads, rabbits, and rats, knowing already that what she really wanted was a cat. Hermione studied the kittens carefully. There were all kinds.

But it was an older, ginger cat off in the corner with a squashed face that caught her eye. He (she checked to be sure) was a bit grumpy, but for some reason Hermione liked him immediately and he liked her.

The shopkeeper didn't seem to approve, warning her that he had had multiple owners previously, but she was insistent and walked away the proud owner of one male cat, part kneazle.

She decided to name him Crookshanks, and once outside, introduced him to Tibbles. The two eyed each other warily but seemed content to ignore one another. Hermione was pleased. She even had a little extra money to buy _books_.

Wouldn't the people at Flourish and Blotts be surprised. No more throwing her out because she was "loitering." "This isn't a library," they'd tell her. Hmph. Madam Pince had more manners than they did.

Hermione returned to the orphanage that day feeling very smug, indeed.

* * *

She met Harry again at the Hogsmeade station on their way to Hogwarts, and greeted his parents politely. Hermione was carrying Crookshanks since she was afraid he'd get lost or trampled, but once they were in the carriage she let him free.

He sniffed around a bit before approaching Harry, jumping in his lap, and settling down, content. Hermione was pleasantly surprised.

"Crookshanks doesn't like most people," she told him, "No one so far but me, you, and Mr. Prince."

"Sounds like he has good taste," Harry grinned, and she giggled.

After the sorting and feast, which were no more eventful than the previous two years (except for the unexciting announcement of Professor Kettleburn's retirement,) Hermione broke away from the rest on their way to the Gryffindor common room.

"I have to go see the headmistress," she told Harry, who raised his eyebrows.

"You couldn't have gotten into trouble already, I was with you the whole time and didn't see a thing!"

She laughed and said, "No, I'm supposed to talk to her about my classes. I'll meet up with you later?"

He nodded and shrugged, calling her an "over-achiever" with a smile before turning and walking away.

Hermione went in the other direction, to an unfamiliar corridor that she knew must contain the gargoyle statue that the headmistress spoke of in her letter. She found it quickly and struggled to pronounce the password, 'Cailleach,' before stepping onto the moving, spiraling staircase that was revealed behind it with a delighted laugh.

She knocked on the door at the top and was bid to enter. So Hermione entered, and looked around curiously. The walls were absolutely covered with portraits, though most of them were asleep. Directly behind the headmistress's desk there was a shelf which held the Sorting Hat and a glass case that contained a sparkling sword. The room itself was decorated with, in Hermione's opinion, far too much tartan.

"Ah, Miss Granger, thank you for coming," Professor McGonagall said with a tight smile from behind the desk.

"Headmistress," Hermione said with a small curtsy. (A habit ingrained in her by Mrs. Figg, although she had noticed that it was apparently old-fashioned.) The older witch gestured for her to take a seat.

"I trust your summer was pleasant."

"Yes, Professor."

"Excellent. Then I should like to explain your responsibilities for the coming year. In order to attend all of your classes, you will use a certain magical device known as a time-turner, which allows you to move backward in time for a few hours. You will then attend whatever class runs concurrent to your last, and in that way spend the time until your past-self travels back. I don't believe I can stress enough what an extraordinary responsibility this is. If I had not been approached by the minister, himself..."

Professor McGonagall studied Hermione carefully over her square glasses with narrowed eyes.

"Which I must admit is a most _curious_ occurrence. I wasn't aware you were on such close terms with the minister, that he would defend your abilities and offer the use of a time-turner..."

She paused a moment, as if waiting for Hermione to chime in with an explanation. She did not.

"In any case," the headmistress continued, looking annoyed. "There are rules. You may use it only to attend classes, although this may leave you needing to sleep longer and without as much time to complete your numerous assignments. You must be absolutely discreet. You cannot tell _anyone_ that you have it and you must avoid encountering your past or future self. There cannot be two Hermione Grangers." The witch twisted her mouth wryly.

"I do not blame you at all if you find these requirements, or your course load, too stringent. Come to me if at any time you feel it necessary to return to a normal schedule. Do you have any questions?"

Hermione shook her head, still too astounded. Travelling through _time?_ It seemed the stuff of fiction novels. She never knew it was possible, actually. But then, who could really know the limits of magic?

The headmistress retrieved a small box from a warded drawer in her desk and opened it to reveal a small, delicate-looking, silver hour-glass on a long chain. She lifted it gently and offered it to Hermione with a frown.

"Every inversion of the glass is one hour of time. Please be careful. I don't believe I need to tell you that this is a very powerful tool, Miss Granger, and using it irresponsibly could prove extremely dangerous."

"I will be very careful, Headmistress. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity," Hermione said, and took the device. She was at a bit of a loss until she decided to put the time-turner around her neck and tuck it underneath her robes.

The older witch nodded with a grimace.

"I believe that concludes this meeting, yes? Thank you for your time," she said, and turned her attention to some papers on her desk.

Clearly dismissed, Hermione stood and headed to her common room, unaware of Professor McGonagall's puzzled stare upon her back as she left.

* * *

As instructed, Hermione did not tell Harry about the time-turner. Although she was afraid he might figure it out himself when he saw her timetable the next morning at breakfast.

"Merlin, Hermione!" he gaped, "How does this even work? Look at that, and that there!" He pointed emphatically at the parchment. "You have classes at the same time!"

Hermione shrugged guiltily.

"I worked it out with the headmistress," she said, fiddling with the eggs on her plate. "Don't worry, Harry, really. It'll be fine."

He shook his head and, thankfully, subsided.

"Fine, but don't come crying to me if you need help with your homework," he grinned. And she gasped.

"Excuse me, after all the times I've helped you with _your_ homework, I think I deserve—not that I'll ever _need_ it-"

Harry couldn't help but laugh and pat her on the shoulder.

"I know, Hermione. Really, you're just too easy."

Hermione huffed and ignored him stubbornly for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

The second week of classes, Harry revealed to her that he's going to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

"You are?" she asked, surprised. She knew he loved flying, of course, and practiced frequently when the pitch was empty, but she had no idea he had aspirations to play the sport.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding sheepishly, "It's something I've wanted to do for a long time, actually. My dad was a chaser, you know. I was just too nervous to try out last year, I guess."

Hermione smiled.

"That's wonderful, Harry! I'll come and cheer you on." He grinned.

"Thanks, Hermione! I mean, at the most I'll probably be a reserve player or something, but it'll be nice to have someone there."

"I bet you'll be first string," she assured him, hoping that was the right terminology. Quidditch had never been a love of hers.

As it turned out, Harry completely blew away the rest of the competition during the try-outs (while Hermione screamed for him at the top of her lungs.) He was an absolutely brilliant flyer, in her admittedly biased opinion, and left everyone in worshipful awe.

After speaking with the captain, Oliver Wood, at the end, Harry came up to Hermione in the stands, grinning incessantly.

"I'm in!" he said, exuberant, "I'm seeker! Not just a reserve player, either!"

Hermione squealed and gave him a huge hug.

"Congratulations, Harry!" she told him, almost hopping up and down she was so excited.

"I'll be right back, I just have to put this broom away," he said, lifting up the school's beaten Cleansweep. She nodded and waited. His journey was interrupted frequently by reluctant congratulations from other students. Whatever Harry's social status, normally, his amount of skill at flying, at least, had won him grudging respect from his peers.

They then made their way to dinner where they were approached by the Weasley twins, Fred and George.

"Brilliant flying, mate," Fred—or was it George?—said. She gave up.

"Yeah, brilliant. Really nailed it," the other said.

"Never seen anything like it."

"We're thrilled to have you on the team," they said in unison. They were both beaters, themselves.

"Wish you would have tried out last year, actually," one said with a sour face.

"Might've saved us from losing the cup to Slytherin," his twin agreed.

"Well, see you at practice, mate," the first told him, and they move on.

They hadn't given Harry time to speak a word. Hermione looked at his gob-smacked expression and burst out laughing.

* * *

But it was just days later—on Hermione's birthday, no less—when Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's cat, turned up petrified. Hermione hadn't been there herself, and that corridor of the second floor had been blocked off, since, while they investigated the incident, so she didn't see the writing. But she knew what it said. Ron Weasley wouldn't let her forget it. (Ron had been nastier in the days since Harry got on the team, and Hermione thought it was jealousy.)

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened_, it read in what was rumoured to be blood. _Enemies of the Heir beware._

After it happened, Ron asked her, "Are you scared? The enemy of Slytherin was mudbloods, you know. You might be next." Not that he even knew what 'the Heir' meant until _she_ got the courage to ask Professor Binns about the Chamber the day after. And _of course_ she knew that Slytherin hated mudbloods like her.

The taunting stopped when, within a week, Colin Creevey was found petrified as well. There was an antidote for petrification, thankfully, but its main ingredient was mandrakes, and those wouldn't be mature enough to harvest for months. Poor Colin (and Mrs. Norris) would have to stay petrified until then.

The atmosphere within the school became noticeably frightened and paranoid as the headmistress invoked an early curfew and required the students to travel in large groups. No one had a great love for the "mudbloods," but no one (or few, at least) wanted some crazy running around the school petrifying them all, either.

The professors were in a noticeable tizzy and fervently claimed that the Chamber of Secrets was a myth and not the origin of the attacks. People were saying that the Ministry might get involved in the investigation.

And then one evening during the next week as Professor Prewett was taking roll in the Gryffindor Common Room, it became known that Ginny Weasley was missing. Her brothers looked terrified. Their head of house attempted to make light of it by saying that she had likely fallen asleep in the library. He assured them that he would find her and bring her back. The room burst into furious whispers as he shut the portrait behind him.

The professor didn't return. Hours later, most of the students had gone to bed. Only the Weasley brothers and a few others, Harry and Hermione among them, remained in a tense silence. Hermione tried to occupy herself with homework (which she had far too much of, it had become difficult for even _her_ to get it all done and still get some sleep,) but was largely unsuccessful.

Harry paced and looked worried.

It was curious, because Hermione wasn't sure he'd ever even spoken to the younger girl, who was (after all) _Ron's_ sister. But then, Harry had always been very caring and empathetic.

Suddenly, as she was finally able to comprehend the sentence she'd been reading over an over and was moving on to the next paragraph in her reading, Harry abruptly turned and walked up the stairs to the boys' dormitories. He didn't even say goodnight!

But it was only minutes later that he returned, a familiar shimmering cloak in hand. Hermione got a terrible feeling of dread as he looked at her stubbornly.

"No!" she hissed, shaking her head, "Absolutely not! It's none of our business, it's probably dangerous, and who knows how many rules we'd be breaking..."

Of course, within minutes Hermione found herself huddled awkwardly under Harry's invisibility cloak with her friend, wandering the empty corridors of Hogwarts. Harry was impossible to dissuade when he set his mind on something. It was maddening, but she followed after him still, if only to make sure he didn't get into worse trouble without her.

Thankfully the other students in the common room didn't seem to notice or care when they left, too occupied with their own thoughts.

"I don't see how this could possibly help," she whispered, annoyed. "We won't find her just aimlessly walking in a random hallway. If we could, I bet the teacher's would have found her ages ago. And besides, what do you think we could possibly do that could help if we did find her? We have no idea if she's petrified or..."

She continued her scolding monologue while Harry silently led them down several flights of stairs. Hermione didn't realize that he was actually guiding them somewhere specific until they were already in the second floor corridor which had been supposedly blocked off after the incident with Mrs. Norris.

"Oh," she said, looking around as they continued shuffling forward, "Why do you suppose the ward has been dropped? Do you think-?"

And then they saw the wall and the words written in dried blood. Just as she'd heard, it read: '_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware_.'

But just below was a _new_ message, which said that '_her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever.'_

Hermione gasped and Harry stiffened beside her.

"Oh, no... Merlin. And the writing is already dry..." she said, her eyes watering. "Whoever is doing this, do you think, I mean... could she still be alive?"

Without warning, Harry whipped the cloak from their bodies and threw it to the floor, kicked the wall, and cursed with surprisingly coarse language. He resumed pacing.

"And where are the professors?" he snapped, "Did they even see this? Do they know she may be dead right now? Or are they still looking around thinking she may be asleep or petrified somewhere?"

"I don't know, Harry," she said softly, "But I'm sure they're doing their best to-"

"Their best isn't good enough! It's been hours and she could be dying right _now_."

"But what can we do?" she asked, and slid down the opposite wall from the messages to sit on the floor. "No one knows where the chamber is. Wizards have been trying to find it for centuries, and you heard what Professor Binn's said. Only Slytherin's heir can enter."

His face dropped and he sat beside her, the cloak's shimmering cloth flowing between his fingers.

"Yeah..." he mumbled. "You're right. But it's just so frustrating. Knowing what's happening and not being able to do _anything_."

"Yeah."

They sat in mournful silence.

When Hermione shifted to lean her head on Harry's shoulder, the glimmer of the time-turner's silver chain caught her eye from around her neck, and she bolted upright.

"Harry!" she cried excitedly. She had the idea briefly after Colin was petrified, but her promise and the headmistress's solemn warning and rules had prevented her from going through with it. But now, it was life and death. How could she do nothing? "We can find out exactly where she is! If we follow her with your cloak..."

He looked at her, confused.

"Hermione... we can't follow her. She's already gone."

"She is _now_, yes. But not _then!_" He shook his head.

"You're not making any sense..."

She pulled the time-turner from beneath the front of her robes and presented it to him triumphantly. Harry looked at it, uncomprehending.

"Pretty?" he said uncertainly.

"It's a time-turner," she told him quickly, "I've been using it to get to all of my classes. Just one turn, and it takes you an hour back in time. Two turns, and two hours!"

He looked at it with a new-found awe.

"Whoa. You've been carrying that around your neck all this time?"

"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I promised I wouldn't," Hermione said, sincerely but with impatience. "Look, when was Ginny last seen?"

Harry shrugged.

"I dunno. Around six thirty?" he said, unsure. "I'm pretty sure I saw her in the common room after dinner."

"Okay, about five hours should do it, then. Come here."

Hermione beckoned him closer and strung the time-turner's chain around his neck as well.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded and she removed the pin which locked it in place, turning the time piece over five times.

After a disorienting swirl, they were still in the same place. But the second message about the skeleton was no longer present on the wall. Hermione gave a gleeful cry.

"Okay, now let's get under your cloak and wait outside the portrait to the Gryffindor Common Room," she said. "We'll wait for Ginny to leave and then follow her to see what happened. We'll have to wait for the message to be written, but I think we can intervene after that. It's important we aren't seen in the meantime."

He nodded, looking excited, and they made their way to the seventh floor silently.

They waited near the portrait to the common room impatiently, holding their breath when hoards of Gryffindors walked past after dinner, including Ginny. At one point they saw themselves and Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Is my hair really that messy?" he whispered in her ear, and she elbowed him with a silent giggle.

Finally, at around seven o'clock, Ginny exited the portrait, alone. It was surprising that no one noticed, but then, the younger girl had almost become a shadow since last year, excelling at being unnoticeable.

They followed her silently, expectant. But she just walked directly down to the second floor, stopping at the blocked entrance to the corridor where Mrs. Norris had been petrified,. Hermione and Harry looked at each other, confused, as the second year gracefully withdrew her wand and silently cast some impressive-looking spells that neither of the older students recognized.

Ginny then entered the corridor, unimpeded.

They followed, more cautiously now, as they began to get an unpleasant feeling about where things were going. Soon she stopped, but not where they expected. Rather, Ginny opened the door of what looked to be a small closet.

A terrible rotting stench wafted out. Harry and Hermione struggled not to gag while Ginny didn't even flinch. She just retrieved a... yes, that's a dead rooster, from the closet and continued to the wall where the message was written.

They watched, horrified, as the young girl casually sliced open the dead bird with her wand and dabbed her fingers into its blood, bringing them to the wall to artfully paint the sentence they'd seen previously.

There was no doubt, then, who "the Heir" must be.

But... it couldn't be Ginny Weasley! She would never... Well, okay, maybe she would (she's been very withdrawn and sullen, after all) but how? Petrification was advanced magic, not something a second year could do. And even if she was off to commit suicide or something, instead of kidnapped as they thought, given the nature of the second message... why write in the third person? Did she want them to think it was someone else?

"Look at her eyes!" Harry whispered quietly as Ginny turned around. Hermione looked and saw with curiosity that the girl's gaze seemed distant and blank, her eyes clouded. She hadn't noticed, before, but once she looked for it...

"Could she be possessed?" Hermione whispered back fretfully. She didn't know of magic that could allow possession, aside from ghosts. The ghosts at Hogwarts never would, though. They were strictly bound to obey the headmistress.

Ginny walked stiffly (still carrying the mutilated rooster) just a few feet to a nearby door, which Hermione was surprised to see her pass through.

"That's a girl's loo," she murmured, and gave Harry an uncertain glance. "It's been out of order as at least as long as I've known of it." He tugged her after the younger girl, anyway.

They cracked open the door cautiously and peeked in to see Ginny standing in front of the sinks, ignoring the flooded floor under her feet. She hissed something unintelligible. Literally _hissed—_and to Harry and Hermione's shock, one of the sinks rumbled and receded, revealing a large pipe underneath which led straight down. The girl then proceeded to jump.

They rushed forward, the cloak falling to reveal their floating heads, and looked nervously down the dark hole Ginny had just disappeared into. Could that be the entrance to the legendary Chamber of Secrets? They looked at each other uncertainly.

Harry prepared himself to jump too, but Hermione grabbed at his robes to stop him.

"Harry, no!" she yelped. "We have no idea what's down there. At the least, there's whoever is controlling Ginny, and possibly that monster that Professor Binn's mentioned. It would be ridiculous to just jump in without-"

He made to pull away and jump anyway.

"Harry!" she snapped. "We have all the time in the world if needed," Hermione reminded him, gesturing at the time-turner around her neck. "And we _will_ leave some sort of message for the professors so they can at least find our bodies if we're brutally murdered." He stopped tugging.

"Fine," he said mulishly. "But make it quick, will you? Every minute we spend up here is another minute she could be dying down there!"

"Just—augh!" she looked around nervously and forcibly removed him from the flooded bathroom before the sink could shift itself back into place. "We'll go back an hour after we find a way to let someone know where the Chamber is!"

Standing in the hallway, Hermione tried to think.

She couldn't leave a message anywhere she had already been, because she would have seen it, and she couldn't alert anyone before Professor Prewett took roll and realized that Ginny was missing, or they never would have known about it and used the time-turner to go back and leave the message in the first place. But the professors should preferably get it as soon after curfew as possible. Maybe they could even help with whatever was down there, if they could manage to get in.

Merlin, time-travel was far too confusing. And Harry's self-designated role as saviour was foolish in the extreme.

She decided to send an owl to the headmistress to be delivered right at curfew while Professor Prewett was still counting heads in the common room. Harry tagged along impatiently while she retrieved some parchment and headed to the owlery.

As she tied the letter explaining the Chamber's location to the owl's leg and gave it specific instructions about the delivery, Harry tugged at her sleeve.

"Come _on!_" he whined, and she glared at him.

"_Fine_. Let's go."

They hurried through the empty halls and entered the girl's bathroom on the second floor. One turn, and they were back an hour.

"Oooh, _visitors_," a high-pitched voice squealed before they could throw the invisibility cloak back over themselves. They looked around and saw a ghost hovering just below the ceiling.

Once a Hogwarts student, from the looks of her, young, with glasses and pigtails. Merlin, this was not what they need right now.

"Look, we're doing something kind of important here," Hermione told the ghost testily. "So if you don't mind, would you please just... bugger off?"

The ghost's lips wobbled, and Harry gave her a reproachful look. She ignored him.

"I see," the ghost said sorrowfully. "No one ever wants to visit _me_. I'm just _Moaning Myrtle_. Just a boring ghost with an ugly face. Yes, I see. Always the same thing. Well, I won't _bother_ you any more!" the girl yelled, and dove into a nearby toilet with a splash, sobbing. It began to overflow.

"Nice going, Hermione," Harry told her sarcastically.

"We don't have time for this," she huffed. "Ginny will be here any minute, and us along with her. Now let's get under the cloak and into a stall."

So they waited for the minutes to pass, crammed uncomfortably into a tiny bathroom stall.

After what felt like forever but was probably less than ten minutes, they heard Ginny's splashing footsteps and hissing, the shifting of the sink and their own argument, which to them had already happened an hour ago.

Their past selves left and the Harry and Hermione of the present quickly exited the stall, dashing to the gaping pipe. Harry jumped immediately, while Hermione hesitated. Oh Merlin... But the sink rumbled as if about to move again, so she jumped before she could think better of it.

It was not a pleasant trip, sliding through the slimy pipe through dizzying twists in turns. Eventually, she slid to a landing on a rough floor, surprisingly unharmed but shaken. Harry was already standing and looking around curiously.

Hermione stood, wobbling. Harry began to move forward in order to find Ginny. To save her, to stop her, who knew?

"Harry, wait!" she hissed, and he turned and looked at her with a frown.

"I've been thinking," she told him, "about what might be down here. If Ginny really is the heir, then she can't have petrified Mrs. Norris or Colin. Someone, or something else must have. The monster, that Professor Binns mentioned... I think it might be a gorgon."

He looked at her blankly.

"Oh, honestly, you don't read at all, do you?" Hermione asked. "It's classic Greek history. Gorgons are humanoid, with living snakes for hair. One glance at them, and you're petrified. It makes sense. Discounting Ginny's possible possession, at least. I haven't worked that one out."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess it does make sense. But how do we deal with something we can't even look at?" he mused.

"That's explained in the stories, too. A wizard named Perseus used a reflective shield and looked in that while beheading the gorgon, Medusa. Looking at a gorgon's reflection is harmless, you see."

"Great... so where are we going to get a reflective shield?" Harry grumbled, looking around with raised eyebrows. Hermione shook her head.

"Don't be ridiculous. A mirror will work fine, and we learned how to transfigure those last year," she told him. An incantation and a wave of her wand, and a good-sized rock (fallen from the aged walls of the underground tunnel) became a circular mirror about a foot in diameter.

"Brilliant," Harry said with a quick grin, watching as she lifts it.

"You're better with defense," she told him reluctantly, "Why don't you wield the wand while I hold the mirror. Make sure to look into it to see where you're going. Don't look up, especially if you hear something."

He nodded solemnly and they slowly pressed forward into the gloomy tunnel, illuminated only slightly by a small light from Harry's wand, trying to ignore the eerie atmosphere created by the plethora of small animal bones scattered around.

The tunnel twisted and turned, and branched off into smaller tunnels. They followed what seems to be the larger, central one.

After a time, they heard something and stopped, frightened, hearts pounding. Hermione moved the mirror around slowly as the sound approached. It was like something was sliding against the stone. She couldn't begin to guess what.

As Hermione searched frantically with the mirror she turned from Harry, who stared at her back, frustrated.

That was when she saw the reflection of an enormous, yellow eye. After that, she saw nothing.


	7. Step 7

**Step 7**

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes and spasmed in reaction to her fright at what she saw in the mirror.

But she was lying down now, in a bed and far from the gloomy, underground tunnel. She was surrounded by people, including the headmistress, the school's matron, Professor Slughorn, Harry, and Crookshanks purring at her feet. They all seemed to relax minutely as Hermione looked around, absolutely bewildered. The Hospital Wing? As Harry tackled her with a hug, she realized she must have been petrified.

"It wasn't a gorgon," she said faintly over his shoulder. Her friend shook, laughing.

"No, it wasn't," he told her, grinning widely.

"A very good guess, however," Professor Slughorn said with an encouraging nod.

"A basilisk," Professor McGonagall informed her briskly, and Hermione frowned.

"Oh... But I thought they killed with their gaze?" And then before anyone could answer, "But maybe if it's not a direct look, like through a mirror..."

Harry nodded eagerly.

"Exactly! Good thing you thought to transfigure one, right? I tell you, that snake was huge! After you were petrified, I took the mirror and-"

"I think that's a tale for a later time, Mr. Potter," the headmistress interrupted, and then addressed Hermione. "I think it's important you know, first, that Miss Weasley is unharmed and was manipulated to act as she did by... an object which is no longer a threat. The basilisk is dead, and Mr. Filch's cat and Mr. Creevey are recovered from their petrification, just under an hour ago. With Professor Sprout's care of the mandrakes, and Professor Slughorn's assistance in brewing the antidote, there is no lasting injury. However..."

She paused, lips pinched.

"As it was necessary to wait for the mandrakes to mature, which is a long process, we unfortunately could not reverse the petrification until now. Miss Granger, today is the 30th of May."

Hermione gasped, and Harry squeezed her hand, looking concerned. Months of her life, almost an entire school year, gone and over in what, to her, was only an instant.

"Exams?" she said faintly, and the headmistress smiled tightly. The others observed the exchange in silence.

"Given the extraordinary circumstances, you will, of course, not be expected to take them. And yet, your and Mr. Creevey's options _are_ rather grim, in that you must must either retake this year come September-" Hermione gave a cry of dismay, "_Or_, since the situation _is_ so unusual, spend the summer here at Hogwarts under the supervision of a few of your professors, completing the third year curriculum in a kind of independent study. Mr. Creevey has accepted the first option, but I believe you may be inclined to take the second?"

Hermione nodded eagerly, although she was disappointed not to be able to return to Diagon Alley for the summer and continue to help Mr. Prince. The thought of _repeating_ the year, as though she were some sort of incompetent... the very idea was repugnant.

"I thought so," Professor McGonagall said with a slight smirk. "We can arrange the details at a later date... at which point we will also speak of your irresponsible rule-breaking." The headmistress gave her a flinty frown. "In the mean-time, you may perhaps want to respond to your post. I had... quite a few inquiries, from various sources, about your health in the past months."

The headmistress gestured to a few letters placed on the bedside table beside a large pile of sweets and flowers, looking at Hermione curiously again. Harry was kind enough to hand them to her, and she scanned though them quickly, recognizing immediately who they must have been from. Mrs. Figg, Mr. Prince, and... Mr. Grindelwald. Ugh.

"It's wonderful that the antidote was a success, Miss Granger" Professor Slughorn said boisterously, "And I'm simply thrilled you'll be staying over the summer. But there's work to be done, so close to the end of term, so I'm afraid I must take off. But I am very glad to see you moving again."

He patted her on the shoulder with a grin and shuffled away after she gave him a nod and a wave. Professor McGonagall soon departed as well, while Madam Pomfrey stayed a bit to fuss over Hermione and ordered Harry not to stay too long.

By the time they were finally alone, Harry was ready to burst with anticipation at the chance to tell her everything that had happened since she was petrified.

"So I grabbed the mirror," he said, as if he had never been interrupted, "Making sure not to look up, of course. I sort of knew where the thing was by where you were looking, so I just held up the mirror in that direction. Because I thought: if it petrifies by looking at you, shouldn't it be petrified itself by looking in a mirror? Of course, now I know that it can actually _kill _by looking at you, and only petrifies when you see its reflection, as you said... But anyway, it _worked_. I lifted the mirror and just like that, it was stone!"

He continued to ramble excitedly as she lie there, bemused.

"Makes an ugly statue really, who'd want a fifty foot snake in their garden? But anyway, I was sort of panicking because you were all petrified, but since Colin would be okay I figured you would be too, and I had to find Ginny. So I kept going, and then I saw her lying on the ground in this big chamber with a huge statue of I think Salazar Slytherin in it—that was pretty ugly, too, not very tasteful at all—and I thought maybe I was too late..."

Harry took a moment to reflect sadly on his past horror before continuing.

"But she was still breathing. And then I noticed there was this boy there, well young man, really; looked to be in sixth year maybe. I asked 'Who are you?' and he said, all arrogant, 'I am Tom Riddle,' and I said, 'But Tom Riddle's dead,' and then he looked annoyed and... well, we had a bit of a chat. It turns out some younger version of the old Tom Riddle, who was the real heir of Slytherin, was controlling Ginny Weasley through a diary to open the Chamber. He was going to use Ginny's life-force or something to come to life. The whole thing was really creepy.

"And I said he couldn't do that, because it's wrong, you know? But he laughed and basically just started attacking me with Ginny's wand. I tried to dodge and run away, because what am I going to do against someone who actually knows what he's doing in a duel? So I was running around, probably looking like a prat, when suddenly one of his spells—he actually used the _killing curse—_hit that diary he'd mentioned, next to Ginny on the ground. (Thank Merlin it wasn't a few inches to the left, it could have hit her.)

"And then he was gone! Just like that! It was all a bunch of dumb luck, really. It's funny, because I had no idea the killing curse could work on... well, whatever that diary was. Anyway, Ginny was close to dead at that point, so it's good that the professors turned up just then. You'll notice if you go in that bathroom again, the sink has been blasted to bits. No password necessary!" He laughs lightly. "Thanks for convincing me to go along with that owl, by the way, I don't think I could have done anything for Ginny, myself. And I was a bit scraped up, too, since a few of Riddle's curses hit. Thankfully not the deadly ones."

He tapered off, apparently at the end of his story, and Hermione looked at him, incredulous.

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!" she laughed, and Harry nodded, shrugging sheepishly.

"Yeah, I swear it's all true, though, strange as it sounds."

"Wow. And I missed all of that," she said, but wasn't too torn up about it. It sounded terribly dangerous.

"And more, really," he told her regretfully. "Would you believe that Weasley actually apologized for being such a git all the time?"

"No!" she said, only partly mocking.

"He did! Once we were brought here to the Hospital Wing, the headmistress flooed Ginny's parents, then my parents, and then brought the Weasley brothers down, even though it was after midnight, so there was a huge crowd. And McGonagall wanted me to explain what happened, and I did. And everyone was horrified, but then the Weasleys all started talking about how Ginny had become obsessed with Riddle since last year—always asking questions, and she got really upset when he died and asked even more questions that no one could answer. They seemed kind of glad there was a reason behind it, actually."

His speech slowed and Harry began to look thoughtful, even frustrated.

"But... this _diary_. It was really dangerous, you know? And it obviously belonged to that Riddle bloke, who was head of the M.L.E.. Don't you think the Ministry should know about it? I asked why we weren't contacting the Minister for Magic, and they all sort of looked at each other and told me, all patronizing, that Riddle was dead and it's best we don't 'stir up trouble.' But what if there's more like it? They just wouldn't take me seriously... I think Ron agreed with me, though...

"Oh, yeah, Ron! So, after the parents left, when McGonagall was about to send the Weasleys to bed, Ron came over looking all embarrassed and told me (mumbling, mind you) that he was really sorry for being such a prat to the both of us, and then thanked me for going and saving Ginny. He skittered off right after, but it seems he was sincere, since he hasn't bothered me since."

Hermione was skeptical.

"Really, that's it?" she asked, "He's sorry and he won't do it any more?" Harry shrugged.

"I think so. Um, fair warning-" he said with a nervous grin, "The both of us are kind of minor celebrities right now at school. For finding the Chamber of Secrets, going up against a basilisk, and saving Ginny and all. They don't even seem to care that we single-handedly lost Gryffindor House all its points, they're smiling at me and asking for my autograph and obviously—" he gestured to the sweets and flowers, "Leaving stuff for you. It's embarrassing, really. I've had to hide in the library most days."

Hermione snickered, and he grins wryly.

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. You've been trying to get me to spend more time in there for ages, and then you get petrified and I spend most of my free time there." His expression softened to a genuine smile. "I _am_ really glad you're better, now. It's been pretty lonely without you, worshipful fans or no." Harry gave her hand a squeeze.

"I'd say the same, but I wasn't conscious enough to miss you," she said, giggling, and he pretended to be offended.

"Ahem." Madam Pomfrey was back, and giving Harry a squinty glare. He stood reluctantly.

"All right, I'm going. See you later, Hermione."

"Goodbye, Harry!"

The matron fussed a bit more, changing Hermione's clothes and forcing her under the covers before leaving her with strict orders to rest. Not at all tired, Hermione instead nibbled on a Chocolate Frog from the pile and stroked Crookshanks while opening her letters. She read Mrs. Figg's first, which was a fairly predictable message of concern, telling her to feel better soon.

Mr. Prince's, next, was characteristically short and snide.

_Your actions were brainless. Clearly, being a Gryffindor has corrupted whatever common sense you may have once had. You have nothing but happenstance to thank for remaining relatively unharmed. May I hope that this escapade has taught you something about rushing blindly into dangerous situations? _

_Regards, _

_S. Prince_

Hermione was a bit embarrassed, but chose to regard the letter as the wizard's own expression of concern. After all, he wouldn't have inquired at all or known about what happened unless he was worried about her, right?

Promising herself that she would send an equally snide letter in response sometime later, she reluctantly opened the missive from Mr. Gindelwald.

_It's quite rude to miss an appointment, incapacitated or not. I have decided to forgive you since your excuse is suitably impressive, but I trust there is nothing that will prevent you from attending the next?_

_Again, first Hogsmeade weekend of the coming year. I will make the arrangements._

_G.G._

She huffed and tossed the letter away, though it fluttered to rest on the covers of the bed only inches from her hand.

What a rude man. As if she had purposely gotten herself petrified just to avoid him! It was tempting to do something similar (but not as drastic) come next year. Although, given his attitude, he would probably find and drag her to Hogsmeade himself no matter what the circumstances. Complaining to some adult wouldn't help; this was a good friend of the Minister of Magic for Merlin's sake. They would probably consider her lucky for his attention.

Crookshanks swatted at the parchment and it fell to the floor. Hermione giggled and gave him an approving pat on the head.

Well, at least she had avoided the wizard for another year.

* * *

Hermione was finally permitted to leave the infirmary the next morning after a breakfast spent under Madam Pomfrey's close watch. She felt totally fine and was more than impatient to leave. Harry met her just outside the door.

As they made their way to the common room, Hermione realized that he wasn't exaggerating at all about the celebrity thing.

Younger students paused, giggling and whispering as they passed and watching Harry overtly, while those who were older gave him a wave and a kind greeting. They mostly ignored Hermione.

"We're minor celebrities? Or _you_ are?" she asked with a teasing grin. "It looks to me like they're all staring at _you_."

Harry shrugged, looking puzzled and embarrassed.

"I thought... I mean, a lot of people visited you while you were petrified. I guess it could have been because I was there... But that's not fair! You were with me in the Chamber, too, I couldn't have done it at all without you!"

Hermione shook her head, laughing.

"It's all right. I can see why they'd want to focus their hero-worship on you. And besides, I don't think I'd like all that attention, anyway. You're welcome to it."

He sighed, clearly frustrated.

"_I_ don't like it either. I wish they'd bloody leave me alone! None of them actually like _me_, or they'd have tried to make friends ages ago. It's the stupid saviour thing and winning quidditch matches that has them-"

"You won quidditch matches?" Hermione said, surprised. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot! I missed all of them, didn't I? And you won!" She stopped in the hall to grab his arm excitedly. "That's wonderful, Harry! Congratulations!"

He grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, thanks. I just did my job as seeker, though, caught the snitch and all. Nothing extraordinary."

"It _was_ extraordinary," a quiet voice interrupted, and they looked to see that Ginny Weasley had stopped to join them in the middle of the corridor. "I've never seen anyone fly like that... and on an old, school broom!" she said with a shy smile.

Harry looked down and mumbled "thanks" uncomfortably. Hermione looked between them with raised eyebrows. Did Ginny fancy Harry now? She acted like she did. Hermione had never thought of Harry as fancy-able material, but he _was_ a boy after all... Ugh. Gross thoughts. The red-head was welcome to him.

Ginny turned her attention to Hermione with a more confident grin.

"I'm glad you're better now," the younger girl said. "Thank you for coming after me in the Chamber, I was almost a goner for sure." Hermione nodded and said,

"You're welcome. I'm glad I could do something to help, even if my role was rather small. You're looking much better, yourself."

Ginny's smile became a bit forced.

"Yeah... it was hard..." She shook her head and seemed to regain a brighter spirit. "Anyway, see you around, Hermione," Ginny paused and looked down, "Harry."

They nodded and she took off in the opposite direction.

"That was... interesting," Hermione teased, and Harry glared at her.

"Don't you dare say anything. She's been like that all year; it's embarrassing."

"Anything about what?" she asked, and mimed zipping her mouth shut.

* * *

The next few weeks were uncomfortable, as Hermione realized that the rest of the world really had functioned perfectly well without her for the past several months and had left her behind. While she began studying herself the subjects they covered ages ago, her peers were scrambling to study for their exams.

It was a bit lonely. Even with Harry's company, Hermione felt strangely detached from everything going on around her, as if she were an observer and no longer a participant in reality.

It only got worse once exams were over and all the students left for the summer. Hermione was left, almost alone, in an enormous, empty castle. At times she met with Professors Slughorn, Flitwick, and Sprout (the only ones—not including Professor Binns, Madam Pince, and Mr. Filch—remaining in the castle during the break) to check in on her progress. But aside from that and during meals, she saw no one but ghosts, portraits, and Crookshanks.

It was enough to drive anyone mad.

So she threw herself into her studies, which kept her busy enough, although she was forced to drop her elective courses except arithmancy and ancient runes. No time-turner for her after her abuse of it to rescue Ginny. She had received a terrible scolding for that by the headmistress which left Hermione feeling meek for days.

Thankfully, slowly, the months passed, and she finished her exams just days before the rest of the students were to return. Hermione received brilliant marks, of course, even though she had to learn all the material in half the time. She was exhausted, however, and took those days before September 1st to rest, relieved, before she would have to start all over again.

Hermione was thrilled when the rest of the students arrived for the welcoming feast, and gave Harry a large hug when he sat down beside her.

"I'm so glad you're back!" she told him with a sigh, and he acted surprised.

"Really? I thought you would have loved having the library to yourself!" he teased. She shook her head against his shoulder before letting go completely. Hermione noticed a number of younger students (girls, mostly) frowning at her, Ginny among them, and she smirked.

"No, it's been terribly boring. I guess even I need a break from studying, sometimes," she told him. It was a bit of a revelation to her, as well.

Professor Flitwick then entered the Great Hall with the new students, and Hermione clapped politely as each was sorted, though she regarded the first-years a bit curiously. Were she and Harry really that small when they were first years? It seemed ages ago.

"Hey, did you hear what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, last week?" Harry asked her once they had begun to eat. She shook her head.. "I only got to hear it on the wireless, but _Merlin_... it must have been brilliant to see in person! Bulgaria's Krum caught the snitch—with a broken nose!—but Ireland still won the Cup."

Something of what he said must have caught Ron Weasley's ears, because the red-head turned to look at them from a little ways down the table.

"Are you talking about the World Cup?" he shouted curiously, and Harry nodded. Ron smiled.

"I was there!" he said, but he seemed more excited than bragging. "My dad was able to get top box tickets, and it was bloody fantastic! I'm glad it was held in England this time, so I could go. The Irish had real leprechauns that flew around and dropped coins. I thought they were real, at first, but then they disappeared later on. And the Bulgarians had _veela_'s! They distracted the referee, even. My brothers won tons of galleons off a bet... and that Wronski Feint! Merlin, you should have seen it!"

The boys grinned at each other inanely for a while, seeming to bond over their shared love of quidditch, while Hermione rolled her eyes. Then the two seemed to realize what they were doing and abruptly turne away from each other with identical scowls. Hermione giggled.

"Speaking of Krum," Neville said from beside Ron. Hermione and Harry could hear him because the students in between had fallen silent to listen. "He goes to Durmstrang still, did you know? My dad said them and Beuxbautons were trying to get the Triwizard Tournament going again this year."

He received a lot of blank looks.

"You know, the tournament where each school selects a champion who competes in a series of tasks to win the Triwizard Cup?"

The students began to look intrigued.

"Anyway, they failed," Neville said. "You know how the Ministry is about bringing in foreign wizards. The World Cup took years of preparation and was a nightmare to organize, my dad said. Not a good time to be 'corrupting our youth' or something with crazy ideas about tolerance and living peacefully with muggles, like those frogs at Beuxbatons."

His audience looked annoyed and they turned back to their meals.

"Hey, why'd you mention it all if it isn't happening? Now we're just disappointed." Ron said with a frown, and Neville looked hurt.

"I dunno, I thought it was interesting, I guess."

The red-head's scoff suggested that news of a missed opportunity that large were not very welcome.

* * *

The first two and a half months of classes passed. Hermione was finally able to watch Harry play, and win, a game of quidditch. It was an occasion made especially interesting by the way his face turned bright red when Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker, came up to congratulate him on the victory.

And then one day at breakfast, Hermione received an owl. She untied the letter eagerly, thinking it was from Mr. Prince or Mrs. Figg, although the owl was unfamiliar. She was therefore disappointed when she opened it and found it was from Mr. Grindelwald.

_A reminder. Next Saturday you will take the carriages to Hogsmeade and meet me at the station._

_G.G._

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned, when he saw her worried expression.

She hesitated. Hermione hadn't told him about Mr. Grindelwald and what he did to get her the time-turner last year.

"I'm supposed to meet someone for lunch next weekend," she told him finally.

"And you don't want to?" Harry deduced. She nodded.

"He's just... scary. I don't know what it is, but I don't like him."

"Do you want me to go with you?" he offered kindly. "I know I'm not supposed to go to Hogsmeade, since my parents can't come to take me somewhere and haven't given permission for me to go with anyone else, but I think I could do it with my invisibility cloak."

Hermione frowned. It would be good to have him there, since her unease about that wizard had only grown since the incident with Riddle's diary. But Harry would be breaking so many rules...

"I'll swear if I'm caught that you didn't know a thing," he said, and she reluctantly capitulated. His presence _would_ be a great comfort.

"All right, if you stay invisible..." she said, and Harry grinned.

"Trust me, I'm an expert. I learned from the best," he assured her.

* * *

The next Saturday morning after breakfast, Hermione waited uncomfortably in the entrance hall with all the other students going to Hogsmeade. Somewhere next to her, she knew, Harry was standing beneath his invisibility cloak.

They passed through the front doors by Mr. Filch, who was scowling fiercely as he checked their names against a list he had. Once outside, Hermione went to a carriage near the back (its top up to block the chilly, November wind) since she hoped to have an empty spot on the bench so that Harry might sit.

No one else chose to sit with her in the carriage. Until, just as they were about to leave, Professor Flitwick joined her. She watched him nervously, hoping he wouldn't notice Harry invisible beside her.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," the wizard said pleasantly, "I didn't realize you would be leaving the castle today."

She nodded mutely. They rode to Hogsmeade in silence, where the students exited the carriages under the watchful eyes of Professors Flitwick and Grubby-Plank.

Parents met them at the station, approaching the professors and retrieving their children before leaving again; a few took a portkey elsewhere, though most exited into Hogsmeade.

Eventually it was just Hermione left alone with Professor Flitwick (as well as Harry, but only she knew that). Professor Grubby-Plank had gone ahead to the Hog's Head and Professor Flitwick didn't look too pleased to be held up. But it wasn't long before Mr. Grindelwald came, shoving his way through the crowd.

"Granger," he said, examining her with a nod. His eyes passed over Professor Flitwick dismissively, who was blatantly staring, aghast. Her professor hastily scanned through the papers he had on hand to make sure she was in fact there to see Mr. Gindelwald. "Glad to see you didn't attempt to skive off, this time."

Hermione had to press her lips together to avoid snapping back disrespectfully. It seemed he noticed, because he smirked and said,

"No need to hold back around me, girl. There's nothing you could say that would possibly shock or offend me."

Was that a slight against her faculties, or a comment on his own thick skin? She frowned, puzzled.

"Come along, then," he said, ignoring Professor Flitwick's disapproving frown. Hermione stumbled to catch up as he turned and walked off.

"Not a very smart one, is he?" Mr. Grindelwald mused conversationally as they walked. Hermione hoped that Harry was keeping up with them under his cloak.

"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about, though with a slight panic she prayed he wasn't talking about Harry. He couldn't know, could he?

"That part goblin character," he said impatiently, as though it should have been obvious. "He's scandalized. Mind, I understand the confusion at my interest, but I'm completely bent and everyone knows it, as well. It doesn't take many brains to see that nothing's going to happen, there. And yet some assumption of my ill-intent persists. Arranging to meet with you was far too difficult, in my mind. It's not as if you have any parents to object."

"I have parents," she told him firmly, completely unsure about how to respond to the rest of it, and he gave her a narrow look. She'd never liked the term orphan, though everyone used it when talking about her and the others. As if her parents were _dead_.

"Pardon?"

"I _do_ have parents," she told him stubbornly. "Just because they're on the other side of the Wall doesn't mean they're not my parents."

He laughed loudly.

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

They reached the Three Broomsticks, then, and he politely held the door for her. It was unexpected, but she took the opportunity to pause, hopefully allowing Harry to slip in first before she entered. The inn's pub was busy; it seemed this was a favoured location of Hogwarts students when they were visiting with their parents.

Hermione took a seat in a corner booth while Mr. Grindelwald harassed the waitress for service.

"I'm still here, Hermione," Harry whispered in her ear, and she relaxed with a breath. The older wizard joined her in the booth.

"_Wie eine freche Schlampe_..." he muttered to himself, looking angry.

"What?" she asked, bewildered. Mr. Grindelwald shook his head.

"It seems we'll have to wait for our drinks," he snarled, displeased, and Hermione remained silent, slightly intimidated.

But in an abrupt change of mood, he turned to her with a grin.

"_Naja_, how are your studies progressing?" His sudden enthusiasm was a bit disconcerting, but she couldn't resist bragging a little.

"Very well. I'm excelling in all of my classes," she informed him proudly.

Harry shifted and snorted softly beside her on the bench. Mr. Grindelwald's eyes almost seemed to flicker in his direction for a moment before returning to Hermione.

"Of course. I knew you would, the day I met you."

"Sir," she began. Hesitantly, but now seemed as good a time as any, "If you don't mind me asking, why did you want to meet with me so badly? And why did you help me with the time-turner, last summer?"

He chuckled.

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" the wizard said. "Albus tells me it's a common trait, among Gryffindors, although you wouldn't know it talking to him. Very different from Tom. I could speak with him for hours before the boy would tell me of his troubles... I can't say that I disapprove of your forthrightness, I have little patience for games."

"I was... sorry to hear of Mr. Riddle's passing, sir," Hermione told him, not entirely honestly, but that sort of white lie seemed appropriate. "I've been told that you were friends."

"Have you? No matter, it's in the past, now." He waved a hand dismissively, and a glint of metal caught her eye. She suddenly noticed a heavy ring he was wearing, which looked terribly familiar...

"But the point," Mr. Grindelwald said, "Is quite simple. I am bored. That is partly why, yes, but also—you are intelligent, and I find intelligent people useful. There are so damned few of them, it seems, so I take advantage when I can. It is a simple relationship; I do something for you, and later on you can return the favour."

He smiled, and it seemed predatory.

"I believe one of your professors—Slugtoad, was it?—has the right idea of things. That one, of course, has no idea of the true value of connections. He gathers people like trophies and then uses them for foolish things like tickets to a match or a nice bottle of mead. His priorities are skewed, I think."

"I'm not sure I feel comfortable owing you a favour," Hermione said honestly, a bit shaken. The wizard shrugged.

"You are, of course, under no obligation. But I will not lie and pretend that I speak with you out of fondness or concern, as Albus might. I think we can be of use to each other in the future. I see great possibility in you, and I would like to nurture that possibility. Should you later decide to be grateful for my attention... _na_, I will certainly have no objection."

There was a silence as Mr. Grindelwald allowed her to digest what he'd said.

"But enough about serious matters, yes?" He grinned. "Let us speak of your studies. What thoughts consume your attention?"

Her mind struggled to grasp for a neutral, academic topic.

"Well," she began, "Um… I have been thinking about partial transfigurations..."

Slowly, they entered into a long discussion about various abstract and intellectual subjects. Mr. Grindelwald made insightful comments about the flaws in her theories and arguments, while she attempted to correct and defend them. The waitress brought their drinks (a butterbeer for Hermione, and some sort of alcohol for the older wizard), and then later some simple sandwiches for lunch. The glasses and plates were long empty by the time their conversation wound down. Harry shifted regularly, likely very bored, and Mr. Grindelwald's gaze appeared to drift in his direction somewhat frequently. But the wizard made no comment if he was suspicious.

Despite herself, Hermione found the exchange enjoyable. As distasteful as she believed the man was, himself (which, she admitted guiltily, was an opinion supported by no solid evidence) he was without a doubt, brilliant. And he knew so much! Never had she engaged in such challenging discourse.

"It is past time you returned to school, I believe," Mr. Gindelwald said with raised eyebrows. She nodded, almost regretfully. "Do you suppose you might finally introduce me to your friend, then?" He looked directly at where Harry was sitting beside her.

Hermione gasped, and looked to Harry, also. But he was still very much invisible.

"How did you-?"

The wizard smirked.

"I wasn't sure, in fact, until just now. But you must admit that your friend is less than subtle."

Hermione slumped, while Harry removed the invisibility cloak slowly, looking extremely wary.

"Harry Potter, sir," he said.

Mr. Grindelwald ignored him, eyeing the shimmering fabric of the cloak curiously.

"Might I-?" But his hand was already reaching over the table to delicately lift a corner of the cloth, fingering its folds and watching as his hand disappeared beneath it. Harry seemed barely able to resist snatching the cloak away.

"May I ask where you found such a wondrous artefact?" the old wizard asked, his tone attempting nonchalance.

"It was my dad's," Harry said shortly, "I dunno where he got it."

"Um... sir?" Hermione said tentatively, "I really do think that we need to be going, now."

Mr. Grindelwald emerged from some deep thought.

"Yes, _sicher_. Come along, then."

He quickly removed himself from the booth and Hermione was forced to run after him with Harry, who covered himself with the cloak again once they were outside. Mr. Grindelwald watched her friend disappear with a contemplative frown.

The three of them made their way back to the portkey station in silence, where Professor Flitwick was waiting impatiently.

"You're late," the short wizard told them, but Mr. Gindelwald's glare seemed to quell any further complaint. The charms professor huffed and steered her toward the last Hogwarts carriage waiting on the street.

"We will have lunch again, the next day you are permitted," Mr. Grindelwald told her in parting. She opened her mouth to respond petulantly at his presumption, but the wizard was already walking away. Hermione sighed, instead, frustrated, and joined Professor Flitwick in the carriage. She could feel Harry settle beside her.

The ride to Hogwarts was, again, silent, as each of the carriage's occupants were distracted by troubling thoughts.

* * *

"I don't like him," Harry said once they'd reached the common room.

Hermione didn't either, but something about their meeting (probably the interesting discussion) left her with an urge to defend the man.

"I don't know, he isn't so bad," she told him reluctantly. He shook his head.

"He is, though! He treats you like some sort of object to be used and moved about on his whim, not like a person. He's rude and he wants something from you. And I don't like the way he looked at my cloak."

"Then don't come along, next time," Hermione snapped, frustrated at listening to the same concerns she had been ruminating over for the past half hour. Harry looked betrayed.

"Fine. I won't," he snarled and stomped up the stairs to his dormitory. Hermione collapsed into a plush armchair, crying silently. The surrounding students avoided looking at her.


	8. Step 8

**Step 8**

* * *

The rift between Hermione and Harry lasted only until dinner the next evening, and was healed completely by the time Harry returned from his classes on Monday afternoon to find his dormitory ransacked.

They had an argument about that, too, but it ended without tears.

"I'm telling you, it was Grindelwald after my cloak," Harry whispered furiously. They were in a tucked away corner of the common room, waiting while Professor Prewett examined the scene.

"And I'm telling _you_ that you're being ridiculous!" she hissed back.

"You _saw_ how he was looking at it on Saturday! My things were the most scattered, and there's nothing missing. But I'd bet you anything that if I hadn't thought to carry my cloak in my bag today, it _would_ be missing."

"There's no evidence that the culprit was looking to steal anything at all. It could easily be someone playing a prank, just messing with your things to be annoying. And honestly, why would Mr. Grindelwald bother to break into Hogwarts to steal a boy's cloak? He's friends with the _Minister for Magic_! I bet he could easily have twenty made just like it!"

"I don't know, Hermione," Harry said, frowning, "But I know I'm right. Do you remember second year, when he was trying to take something from Riddle? Maybe he's just a klepto. And who knows what he'll do to get what he wants? I wouldn't put it past the creep to kill. Hell, maybe he already did. Maybe he's the murderer the aurors were looking for."

Hermione gasped.

"_Harry!_ That's a terrible and totally unfounded accusation! Getting into an argument and a bar fight does _not_ make someone a murderer!"

He had the grace to look ashamed.

"Yeah, I know," he mumbled, "I'm sorry... But I'm just _sure_ it was him! I don't know... it's more than a hunch. It's like a gut certainty. I don't know how to explain or convince you."

She shook her head sadly.

"You can't, Harry. We'll have to agree to disagree."

Professor Prewett finished examining the dormitory, but had to reluctantly admit that he had no way of knowing who had done it or why.

The incident left Harry on edge for weeks, after.

* * *

"And how is your little friend?" Mr. Grindelwald asked, upon their next meeting soon after the Yule break. He made a show of looking around with a grin. "Is he still lurking about beneath that cloak of his?"

Hermione shook her head, and the man looked mildly disappointed before starting a conversation about her classes. She found herself preoccupied by thoughts of her argument with Harry, back in November. Hermione may not have believed Harry about the cloak, but her curiosity was sparked about the incident in their second year. Would it be too presumptuous to ask about it? Probably. But that didn't stop her from doing so during a lull in their discussion. She was a Gryffindor, after all, as Mr. Prince was so fond of reminding her.

"Sir," she began nervously, "Forgive me for being nosy, but I recall a rumour a couple years ago about you having a very public argument with the late Mr. Riddle..."

The old wizard frowned severely, and she thought he was going to deny it or change the subject. Instead he said,

"Ah. You heard about that, did you? I can't say I'm surprised that you're curious. There have been so many questions asked because of that..."

He idly twisted a ring on his finger, looking deeply contemplative.

"Tom was a strange young man. Genius, of course, but he fluctuated frequently between bouts of extreme arrogance and severe paranoia..."

Hermione remained silent, unsure of where he might be going with this. Mr. Grindelwald looked at her with a frown.

"I'm going to trust you, Granger," he said, "Because I want you to be able to trust me. I think that's where things went wrong with Tom. I'm going to be honest, because I like honesty. Which makes living with Albus interesting, certainly... " He shook his head. "Lies complicate things far too much, I think. And in any case, enough people already know this... should you abuse my trust, I'm quite capable of landing on my feet. So don't think you can use it against me, somehow."

He looked at her intently.

"Yes, we argued, girl. Over this ring, in fact." He lifted his adorned hand. The wizard wore a gold ring, inset with a black stone which was engraved with a curious, geometric symbol. Hermione resisted the urge to gasp as she finally recognized it as the gaudy ring she saw Tom Riddle wearing two years ago. "He came to lunch one day, wearing this, and would only tell me that it was a family heirloom. I wanted to examine it, for reasons I will not tell you at the moment—that's not lying, it's omitting certain truths—and he reacted violently. That would be the paranoia and distrust.

"When I approached him again, in his home, hoping that he might be calm after some time to reflect... his reaction was again violent. I will not deny that I wanted the ring, nor that I am very pleased to have it, now. But I did not intend to take it from him. There are very few people in this world whom I value more than I do certain interesting trinkets, and he was one of them..."

Mr. Grindelwald drifted off, and Hermione felt the stirrings of pity at what appeared to be a genuine display of sorrow.

"Yet in his mania, he was convinced I would do everything in my power to steal it..." he continued slowly, "So he tried to kill me. Obviously, I defended myself. I regret his death very much, but any other outcome was unlikely, given his murderous intent."

Hermione found it difficult to breath, as the realization struck that Harry was right. The wizard in front of her was, in fact, a murderer... self-defence or not. Suddenly her heart pounded and her face paled, and she very much wanted to be anywhere but _t__here_, in the presence of a self-proclaimed killer.

Mr. Grindelwald didn't seem to notice her panic, and was instead studying the ring on his hand closely.

"His paranoia was truly extraordinary," the wizard mused. "I found a number of interesting, dark... enchantments upon this ring. Luckily, I am well-versed in the dark arts, myself, or I would be very dead right now."

He saw her discomfort, finally, and said with a wry grin,

"But I suppose such grim topics wouldn't interest a young girl such as yourself. Tell me, of what should we speak, instead?"

"I'd like to return to Hogwarts, I think," Hermione said quietly, avoiding his eyes.

"So soon?" He frowned. She nodded emphatically, and Mr. Grindelwald sighed.

"_Scheiße._ Come along, then."

He stood and she followed behind him to the portkey station where Professor Sprout was waiting this time.

"I hope that my trust in you is not misplaced," Mr. Grindelwald told her firmly. "I will see you in seven weeks." And he was gone.

"You're a bit early, dear, so you'll have to wait," Professor Sprout told her with a kind smile.

Hermione nodded, and stood there in the heated portkey station, shivering.

* * *

She told no one of what Mr. Grindelwald had told her, not even Harry. Hermione was worried that Harry's theory was correct, that Mr. Grindelwald _was_ after the cloak. And what might the old wizard do to get it? He had already proven himself capable of killing...

Hermione had nightmares for days, waking up terrified because Harry had been found dead in her dreams, Mr. Grindelwald invisible and laughing wildly in the background.

Harry became worried since she was frequently exhausted, but she dismissed his concern.

And she did eventually calm down. If the man _was_ after the cloak, after all, he had made no further move to steal it. And he had said that Mr. Riddle's death was an accident... hadn't he?

So although Hermione was still a bit frightened of him, she obediently rode a carriage to Hogsmeade in early March and met Mr. Grindelwald at the station before they walked to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. What other option did she have?

It was difficult for her to ease into conversation, that time, but eventually the knowledge of what he had done became a distant concern. It was difficult to remember that this man was a monster when he was smiling and laughing pleasantly, asking her interesting questions, and giving her clever responses. Weren't monsters supposed to be crazy? Dark, _different_ somehow than an average person? Nothing but his brusque manner even hinted at what the wizard was capable of.

"What do you think of the Wall, Granger?" Mr. Grindelwald asked, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm sorry?" she responded dumbly, nervous. The Wall was a topic she'd learned not to address.

"Surely you have an opinion," he said with raised eyebrows. "You seem to have one about everything else. I think it is a terrible compromise, myself."

Hermione was hard-pressed to conceal her shock. Was a close friend of the minister really criticizing the Wall?

"Um, I suppose it's there for a reason," she said noncommittally. Mr. Grindelwald frowned, unimpressed, and Hermione struggled to continue. "That reason being... to protect the wizarding world from discovery by muggles. Because discovery would lead to hatred and violence. Death."

"Presumably," he agreed, "But ours or theirs?" Hermione shook her head, confused. "We say it's for our own protection—and I suppose it is, if you're too squeamish to fight back, like Albus—but who do you really think would emerge the victor in a war between wizards and muggles?"

"Wizards, I suppose," Hermione granted reluctantly. How could muggles triumph over magic, after all? Mr. Grindelwald nodded, grinning.

"Indeed. So we've established that the Wall is at least in part there so that, on the chance that we're discovered, we aren't forced to massacre all the muggles in an attempt at self-preservation... though I don't quite understand the reluctance. Can you think of another reason?"

She shook her head (struggling to ignore his horrifying unconcern at the idea of slaughtering muggles). Already he had ventured beyond the standard, rote explanation given publicly, which she had never dared question. He sighed, disappointed.

"To firmly separate the two cultures," the wizard told her impatiently. "You wouldn't have experienced it, being so young, but there was a time before the Wall—before the orphanage, even—when mudbloods grew up as muggles knowing nothing about magic. And when they came to Hogwarts, having also brought their parents in on the secret by necessity, they brought muggle culture with them. _Technologies_ and _ideas_. It muddied things, affecting our way of life.

"And as if that wasn't bad enough, wizards and witches would go out into this muggle world, and get ideas themselves. They'd even _marry_ muggles. Have _children_ with them. Some of the effects are with us still, today. Like an illness that couldn't be purged. Do you understand?"

She nodded slowly, but really she didn't.

"So while some supported the Wall because of fear of violence, many feared the muggles for what they might do to our traditions. And up the Wall went, to my immense dissatisfaction," he grumbled bitterly, his accent becoming more pronounced. "But as I said, it's a terrible compromise. Here we are, _hiding_, in our little rat hole, while those _muggles_ have free reign over everything. Our movements restricted, we can't even _apparate_..."

_Appa_-what? She looked around nervously at the surrounding clientèle, but they seemed ignorant of Mr. Grindelwald's seditious speech.

"Our relationship with the rest of the wizarding nations is in shambles, and our _economy!_" He scoffed. "Disgraceful. If that _Trottel_ would listen to reason... On everything else, he crumbles like _Kuchen_, but on _this_...!"

The wizard seemed to remember himself, shaking his head with a scowl.

"_Ist egal_."

Hermione sipped at her butterbeer, overwhelmed, as he studied her.

"But you still don't understand," Mr. Grindelwald said. She shrugged helplessly. He stood abruptly and left a few galleons on the table.

"Come," he told her imperiously. "I will show you." She scrambled to follow, not at all sure how he would be able to "show her."

They exited the Three Broomsticks and walked in silence. It didn't take too long for them to leave the small area of Hogsmeade that she was familiar with. They passed through a residential area, filled with town-houses, and then a few blocks of shops and eating places, until they reached what Hermione surmised must be a poorer district.

The buildings were unkempt, as were the streets they walked on. There was an impressive crowd of people, louder than any Hermione had ever heard, as peddlers shouted to hawk their wares from carts along the sides of the street, and customers shouted to haggle with them. There was a sort of putrid smell in the air, which Hermione did not know—nor want to know—the source of. There was laundry airing to dry out of windows. Why not use a simple drying charm?

"As many as six or seven families may live in one of those buildings," Mr. Grindelwald nodded to a home no larger than Mr. Prince's apothecary, and Hermione eyed it sceptically. They kept walking.

Hermione almost stumbled over a large pig sniffling the cobblestones in the middle of the street as she gaped at her surroundings. She was startled to see children, about her own age or even younger, selling things just like the adults.

"Should they not be at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"Many cannot afford the fees," Mr. Grindelwald told her shortly.

They continued to push through the crowd, until Mr. Grindelwald was practically assaulted by a spindly witch with far too many cheap bangles, and a thick, cracked pair of glasses. Hermione could detect the strong stench of alcohol from several feet away.

"Oops," the witch giggled, and blinked up at the minister's husband. "Beware the ides of March," she said mistily, and then collapsed in giggles again.

Mr. Grindelwald shoved the witch off with disgust and cast a strong cleansing charm on himself.

"I think we've seen enough," he sneered, and began to guide her back to a more civilized Hogsmeade. "_That_, girl, is the legacy of the Wall."

* * *

It was around Beltaine that romance, predictably, seemed to strike Hogwarts like a plague. Harry had developed a terrible crush on the Ravenclaw seeker, Cho Chang, and was heartbroken when she started dating a handsome Hufflepuff by the name of Cedric Diggory. Apparently Harry had feelings for her since last year.

"You should have asked her out, then, Harry!" Hermione finally told him with a sigh, sick of his moping. He looked hurt.

"But why would she want to go out with _me_?" he whined.

"You know, at this point I'm not really sure," she snapped, and then groaned. "Look, I'm sorry. But you _do_ have a chance. You're nice, you both play quidditch, and you're fun to be around when you're not being a prat. Just think—it's very possible that they'll break up over the summer, or even next week, and then you'll have another chance."

Harry looked cheered, and she hoped he didn't take that as a guarantee that they _would_ break up.

"Um, maybe you should try moving on, in the mean time?" she suggested. He easily ignored _that_ suggestion.

Ginny, however, seemed to have moved on from Harry, whose 'fame' had faded as well over the past months. The youngest Weasley was now going out with Michael Corner, a fourth-year Ravenclaw, and seemed fully recovered from her ordeal with Tom Riddle's diary.

Hermione was happy for her, but honestly. If she was interrupted one more time by some 'madly-in-love' couple looking for a bit of privacy, she'd... she'd... she didn't know what. But it would be drastic.

Thank Merlin her own hormones seemed unaffected by the mass infection of 'love.'

* * *

After exams, she returned to Diagon Alley for the summer. Hermione was very excited to visit Mr. Prince again, whom she hadn't seen in simply forever.

But when she entered the apothecary with the standard greeting of "hello, Mr. Prince!" he stared at her uncomprehendingly. Until his eyes flicked down to Crookshanks, accompanying her, and startled realization seemed to dawn.

Had she really changed that much? That her _cat_ was more easily recognizable? It _had_ been almost two years, but _still_... She knew she was not that different. Her hair was still an uncontainable mess, and she doubted she'd ever grow into her horrible teeth.

Hermione flushed self-consciously, uncomfortably aware of her heated face.

"Miss Granger," he greeted her with what could pass for a small smile. She smiled back nervously.

How odd, why would she be nervous?

"I'm very glad to see you again," she told him quietly.

"Indeed. Would you like to assist me in brewing, then? Today is uncommonly slow."

Hermione nodded eagerly and followed him to the small lab in the back. She was fascinated to watch the process of creating a draught of peace, a tricky potion that was an O.W.L. standard, according to Mr. Prince.

And then her fascination began to encompass the movements of Mr. Prince's hands, which she followed to the tailored sleeves of his robes, and then up to his face, which was relaxed in pleasant concentration.

"Would you like to add the hellebore?" he asked idly. And she started, nodding and scrambling to reach for the plant.

She was about to add it to the cauldron when Mr. Prince grabbed her wrist tightly to stop her.

"_That_ is a wild rose," he said with a raised eyebrow, and Hermione looked to the plant in her hand with horror. It _was_ a wild rose. How could she have made such a stupid mistake? She blushed, mortified, and mumbles,

"Sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention."

"Obviously," is all that Mr. Prince said, and he reached for the hellebore himself.

Hermione sat quietly, rubbing her wrist and feeling humiliated. His silence was almost worse than his snarling. What was wrong with her today? She was distracted and uncomfortable, and not feeling at all like herself.

After some thought, she decided it must be the long absence. Mr. Prince felt like almost a stranger, now, her having been gone for so long, even with the occasional letter. The summer before third year seemed like ages ago! She was not sure how to react to him, any more. What she might have done at thirteen (gush about her life at Hogwarts, her studies, _anything_, really, that came to mind) no longer seemed appropriate at fifteen.

There was also the rather large secret she had been keeping, about meeting with Mr. Grindelwald. It was difficult not to reveal when there were so many things the old wizard said that she'd like to ask Mr. Prince's opinion about. She could simply not mention the source, Hermione supposed, but she was afraid if she so much as opened her mouth to speak, she would let it all spill out.

And that, Hermione knew, would be a bad idea. It had been a long time, yes, but she could easily predict Mr. Prince's reaction. Outrage. After everything he had told her over the years about being cautious and staying out of trouble, keeping away from dangerous people... He'd throw an absolute fit, and then extract from her a promise to stop meeting Mr. Grindelwald, which she couldn't possibly keep.

Add to all of that, Hermione was in the unpleasant adolescent phase of realizing that boys (even the _old_ ones) not only had different... er, parts, but might be worth looking at with admiration (even if she was not so foolish as to fancy anyone). She couldn't help but measure each one she encountered against some sort of transient gauge of suitability, and contemplate... things she'd rather not think of.

So yes. She was feeling uncomfortable.

But that was no reason to act like an idiot! Honestly, not recognizing a wild rose...

Surely that comfortable familiarity would return. This was _Mr. Prince_, after all. She had known him since she was a child.

Hermione determinedly concentrated on acting with composure that day.

* * *

Severus noticed right away that Granger was a bit... off. He could think of no reason that she would go from the chatterbox of his memory to the relatively quiet, easily embarrassed girl that sometimes became distracted staring at him. She was awkward, and it made _him _feel awkward. He regretted that he snapped at her more as a consequence, which left her uncharacteristically hurt, which then made things worse...

Their first really natural interaction that summer was when she burst into the apothecary one day in July, ginger cat trotting behind, waving around a letter and grinning ear to ear.

"I've been made a prefect!" she shouted excitedly, and displayed the small badge proudly in proof. The customer he was helping looked at her oddly and left soon after.

"Congratulations," Severus said with a smirk as he straightened the counter. "But I don't think everyone in Diagon Alley heard you."

"Isn't it wonderful?" the girl said, sighing happily, "They must think I'm a good student."

"Because your perfect marks weren't enough evidence of that," he offered dryly.

"I'm going to be the best prefect Hogwarts has ever seen!" Granger declared, determined.

"Rule-breakers everywhere will fear your name," he agreed indulgently.

The girl was insufferable for the rest of the day, and continued to chatter about it through the summer. Severus had to admit that he found her behaviour a relief.

* * *

Hermione was rather disappointed when she learned that Harry wasn't a prefect, as well. But she was furious when she found out at the sorting feast that Ron Weasley was, instead.

"Why would they want to give that prat anything?" she asked with a huff. Harry shrugged.

"Maybe they want him to have something to feel proud of, or think it might improve his behaviour?" he suggested, and Hermione looked at him, thinking he's mad.

"He has plenty already to feel proud of!" she argued, "Or at least, he finds enough to brag about!" Again, he shrugged.

After dinner ended, Hermione grudgingly worked with Ron to guide the first-years to the common room. Thankfully, he seemed happy to ignore her as he had since she tried to save his sister. She reluctantly admitted that maybe he wasn't so bad.

* * *

As it was their O.W.L. year, the professors had really started to make classes more difficult by assigning a ton of reading and essays. Even Hermione was a little displeased since it took away from her own studies.

Harry, of course, found plenty of time to practice for quidditch. He was joined this year by Ron as chaser and Ginny as a reserve player.

Defence became especially difficult because Professor Quirrell started to emphasize a more realistic, practical application of everything they had been learning during the previous years. Since the wizard had been fairly textbook in the past (or 'boring,' as described by Harry), this came as a bit of a shock. Harry loved it.

Hermione, unfortunately, found that she didn't have the sort of reflexes or instinct to really excel. Although she could cast a perfect shield charm, for example, it was difficult to cast quickly enough when caught unaware.

She came to resent the subject, although she continued to do her best. How likely was it that she would ever need it, anyway? She was certainly not going to go into law enforcement.

Harry admitted that such a career sounded exciting, but thankfully didn't seem very interested, personally. Hermione had gotten the sense that most people didn't much like aurors.

* * *

Hermione continued to visit with Mr. Grindelwald during Hogsmeade weekends, but most of their discussions focused on academic subjects. Occasionally he would inquire if she had any plans for what she might do after leaving Hogwarts, but Hermione told him honestly that she had no idea.

"We'll find you something," he promised.

During one of their luncheons, she thought to bring up something she had noticed in the _Daily Prophet_, which she had been reading more of, recently.

"Sir, I've seen quite a few statements about missing witches and wizards," Hermione told him. "But that seems curious to me. How can someone just disappear? Wizarding Britain is only so large, and you can't leave without going through the Ministry."

Mr. Grindelwald regarded her with a proud smile.

"Yes, that is a good question, isn't it?" he said, but elaborated no further.

* * *

Life as a prefect proved difficult. While Harry continued to moon over Cho Chang from afar (who was still dating Cedric Diggory), Hermione struggled to get her peers to take her seriously as an authority figure.

It was completely hopeless.

The same students who shunned her and laughed when Ron made fun of her didn't care if she threatened to (or even did) take house points. And the _Weasley twins_... Where once she could have shook her head from a distance, she suddenly had some sort of _responsibility_ to try and control them... which turned out to be impossible.

Fred and George just laughed—as they did at everything—when she tried to chide them for playing pranks or testing inventions on other students. Taking points certainly didn't phase them and she couldn't threaten detentions. Going to Professor Prewett would have only earned her more resentment from her classmates.

The worst thing was that Ron didn't take the responsibility seriously at all. He ignored rule-breaking, sometimes even participated, and the only time she had ever seen him try to take points was from Draco Malfoy. Which was _ridiculous_, because you couldn't take points from other prefects.

She had no idea what to do. Mr. Grindelwald told her to just "hex the buggers" because "there's nothing more effective than a little pain and fear to get people to follow orders." Hermione dared not ask if that advice was born of experience and certainly didn't take it.

So instead she gave up. Feeling disillusioned at the broken state of the system, Hermione focused her energies productively on studying for her O.W.L.s. Her shiny badge (she had been so proud of it, the first few months she would polish it every day) became nothing but a reminder of her failure, a symbol of crushed ideals.

* * *

Late in the school year, far from Hogwarts, a wizard raised his wand and uttered a deadly curse. A flash of bright green, and a life was taken.

* * *

**A/N:** I've written a sort of interlude one-shot (_Intermediate Step_) that fits in at this point. The last scene of it was originally at the end of this chapter, but since I've been telling this story from Severus and Hermione's perspectives, I thought I'd keep it that way and give myself the chance to expound on another character. Not really necessary, but you can read it now/later/never as you like.


	9. Step 9

**Step 9**

* * *

GELLERT GRINDELWALD MURDERED, the headline read, and Hermione couldn't prevent a cry of shock and dismay upon seeing it.

There was a small picture of Mr. Grindelwald and the minister together, and then another one (larger and more recent) of Minister Dumbledore in black, clearly mourning his lost friend. The dark colour looked wrong on the usually bright and cheerful man.

She scanned the article desperately but it had few answers. He had been found dead in his home the previous night and they were certain it was the killing curse. There were no suspects.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned. Her face was a mask of horror.

"I-" But how could she put it into words? The man wasn't at all what she would consider good, and he'd never been overly kind, but he had been... a prominent figure in her life. Powerful and knowledgeable. At times, even likeable.

And now he was dead. What did it mean that such a wizard could be murdered in his own home?

Hermione shoved the paper at her friend wordlessly. He scanned the front page.

"Oh..." he had the courtesy to look saddened, if only for her sake. Harry had made no secret of the fact that he disliked Mr. Grindelwald. "I'm sorry."

She nodded faintly, and whispers flurried around the Great Hall as the students heard the news. Hermione felt unsure of herself and what she _should_ feel, and wondered randomly if she ought to send a note or flowers. Did Mr. Grindelwald even have family? He'd never spoken of any relatives. To the minister then, who was his closest friend. Closer even, if rumour were to be believed. It seemed a courteous thing to do.

With that thought in mind, she stood and headed to the greenhouses, Harry scrambling to follow and asking if she was all right.

She was not. But she was certain that she would be, given a little time to adjust.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione received an elaborate invitation from the beak of a majestic owl. It was an invitation to Mr. Grindelwald's funeral. At the bottom of the impersonal missive there was a hand scrawled message:

_I will see to it that you may attend_. _A.P.W.B.D._

The date was set for next Saturday, the weekend before her O.W.L.s were scheduled. But she would be there; some things were just more important than studying.

The day of, Hermione donned her black school robes (for lack of anything else to wear) and followed Professor Prewett to the headmistress's office where she was told to floo to the Ministry of Magic.

"The ceremony is being held in the atrium," Professor McGonagall said. "I will follow right behind."

Hermione nodded and threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. After declaring her destination, she stepped into the green flame...

...and stumbled out into a huge, long room with gilded fireplaces along each wall and a dark wooden floor lined with chairs. Professor McGonagall stepped from the fireplace right after her, and other, unfamiliar witches and wizards entered from the fireplaces on either side.

People milled around the atrium or found a seat, chatting quietly. As it was a Saturday, few were in the Ministry for reasons other than attending the funeral. It was an unexpectedly well attended event for someone who, to Hermione's knowledge, held no official position within the Ministry itself and had few friends.

At one end of the atrium by the golden gates that lead to the Ministry proper there was a raised table where the body lie. It was here that the minister stood, frozen, and here that the headmistress guided Hermione.

"My deepest condolences for your loss," Professor McGonagall told the minister softly, and he nodded absent-mindedly, staring fixedly at the body.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said simply. Minister Dumbledore turned his head slightly to look at her, and she was startled to be the focus of his intense, solemn gaze. Even with the same features, he hardly resembled the kindly man she once saw every Yule. He seemed far older, far wearier.

The headmistress began to lead her away again, but the minister called,

"Wait." They stopped. "Miss Granger, yes?" She nodded, and he reached a hand to grip her shoulder tightly with a sad attempt at a smile. "I'd like you to sit beside me," he said. Professor McGonagall gave them a hesitant nod before moving on to find her own seat.

Hermione stood silent, nervous, while the minister resumed staring at the remains of his friend. He didn't seem to realize that he was still holding her shoulder. She reluctantly followed his gaze to see Mr. Gindelwald. Or what was purportedly him. Just a body now, his soul was gone. And the actual face was, thankfully, covered. Hermione found that she couldn't look away, either. There was a certain stillness and aura that radiated death, the absence of life, and it was disconcerting. No one could have mistook him as being merely asleep.

"He doesn't have his wand," she blurted out, surprised, and then winced at her insensitivity. But it was a shock since wizards were usually buried with their wand unless they decided to pass it down to a son or daughter. And yet Mr. Grindelwald's hands were empty and unadorned.

"Yes. Curious, isn't it?" Minister Dumbledore said darkly, his lips twisting in a grimace.

A number of people approached to offer the minister their apologies, and they looked at her curiously. When Minister Dumbledore hardly replied, they quickly retreated.

A bell rang to signal the beginning of the ceremony, and the minister slowly escorted her to their reserved chairs in the front row. A few made an attempt to speak with him, but he was steadfastly silent. A small, tufty-haired wizard made his way to the raised table and turned to speak.

The speech was long and boring and had very little to do with Mr. Grindelwald, personally. Hermione struggled to sit still, feeling the press of hundreds of people's eyes behind her. She thought that Mr. Grindelwald would have hated this pretentious, elaborate, and most of all... _political_ show.

Eventually, the wizard presiding gave Minister Dumbledore a little nod, who stood from beside her and walked to the table. He turned and faced his audience, apparently about to say a few words in remembrance.

The minister was silent for several moments, however.

"Most of you didn't care for Gellert one whit, and I can assure you that the loathing was mutual," he said finally, bluntly. A few people chuckled nervously, thinking it a joke. "I'm grateful to those few who did, and the rest of you..." His eyes watered and his voice grew hoarse. "I will be candid, in his memory—the rest of you can go hang. I can't be arsed to care right now, for your sycophantic toadying."

He whirled around and placed a hand on the table. The minister, his friend's body, and the table carrying it all disappeared from the atrium rather abruptly with a pop, almost as if by portkey.

There was a shocked silence interrupted by the light applause of a few brave souls. And then the atrium exploded with a storm of whispers, echoing loudly in the large chamber.

The tufty-haired wizard who gave the eulogy shakily thanked everyone for coming, dismissing the crowd, but he was hardly heard.

Professor McGonagall came and escorted her to a fireplace silently. They flooed back to Hogwarts and Hermione headed back to her common room to study. It had been a short ceremony. Odd, too. But Hermione thought that Mr. Grindelwald would have been proud of its finale.

It only occurred to her days later that she saw no aurors at the funeral, despite it being a high profile event and surely in need of security.

* * *

The O.W.L.s were half-way over when the news reached them that the Minister for Magic had resigned from his position due to grief after a record-breaking sixty-four year term. Or at least, that was what the papers said, the Ministry-approved explanation. Rumour said something entirely different.

Rumour said that it wasn't so voluntary or bloodless, that the aurors staged a coup d'etat and overthrew him.

No matter how it happened, however, their newly appointed minister (by vote of the Wizengamot) was a wizard by the name of Voldemort. An unknown on the political scene. No last name given, or first if that was his last. And no picture either. No background information. It was very odd and worrisome, Hermione thought.

The whole situation left the students and staff on edge. No one put much effort into their exams, and even Hermione was ashamed to admit that she wasn't at her best. Speculation ran rampant instead. Harry was particularly ill at ease.

After a tearful good-bye at the portkey station in Hogsmeade, Hermione returned to Diagon Alley expecting that everything would have changed. It felt like everything already had. But instead, things had the appearance of being exactly the same as when she left last summer.

Still, she waited. There had to be some consequences, after all, to their world shifting off-balance.

* * *

The first hint that something was changing came when Harry sent an owl informing Hermione that his mother had lost her job as a clerk in the Ministry. Low-paying though it was the position was work, he explained, and without it they couldn't afford to continue living in Godric's Hollow. Payments on their modest home took the bulk of the Potters' income, it seemed. They would be moving to Hogsmeade that summer, a decent town-house, he assured her.

It still left her anxious and reminded her of the dirty, crowded streets of Hogsmeade she'd seen with Mr. Grindelwald. Might Harry end up there, someday, unable to attend Hogwarts? Mr. Prince even seemed to be concerned when she told him about it, which wasn't at all comforting.

"Did the boy tell you why?" he asked, looking at her seriously. But Hermione shook her head. _How_ Mrs. Potter had lost her job, she hadn't even thought to wonder.

"Do you think you know...?" she queried. Mr. Prince acted as though he would say something in the affirmative, but then shook his head and turned away.

"No, I haven't the slightest idea," the wizard said curtly.

* * *

But Severus did, in fact, have a very good idea. The papers had suspiciously little to say about the new minister, but the name was enough for Severus to deduce a large amount of information. Most importantly, that Tom Riddle was not dead as the public had been lead to believe.

_Voldemort_ was a name that was once spoken in hushed whispers among the staff of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, even when Severus was employed there. Those with lesser positions who had never met Riddle themselves tried to make a bit of a joke of the name and the department head's desire to be treated as some sort of nobility. But even they felt a healthy sort of fear and respect which prevented such talk from moving outside of the department.

Severus had spoken with the man once, right after completing his requisite three years of auror training. His supervisor, Mulciber, had taken Severus to meet Riddle and introduce him as "someone to look out for." (Later he would prove to be a "disappointment" to his mentor.)

Upon entering the department head's office, Mulciber fell into a low bow of the sort that fell out of favour decades ago. Severus scrambled to follow suit, while Riddle barely looked up from his work.

"What?" the man snapped, and Mulciber said in an adulatory tone,

"I've brought a new recruit, My Lord. I think he has potential."

Riddle stared straight at Severus, acting only mildly interested.

"Oh?" he said, and Severus was inexplicably captivated, for several minutes, by the other man's eyes. "Possibly," Riddle said dismissively, and returned to his work.

As the two bowed again and left, Severus found himself feeling unaccountably exhausted. Something about the exchange had left him certain that Tom Riddle was not a wizard to cross.

Thankfully, he hadn't had to deal with Riddle personally after that and instead only saw him occasionally from a distance as the man stalked through the halls. Severus never failed to stop, along with the rest of his colleagues, and lower his head until the man passed through.

The point, however...

Though Riddle was a half-blood, himself (with a _muggle_ parent, even, according to gossip), he absolutely despised mudbloods. It was a view that had attracted many a bigot to his side over the years. Riddle refused to hire any mudbloods when he was "alive," and his successor kept up the tradition so far as Severus knew; not a single one could be found in the entire department.

So if Riddle was now the Minister for Magic... well. It was no wonder that had Lily lost her job.

* * *

Hermione's second clue that things were different now came when she was shopping with Mrs. Figg for school supplies for the coming year. The woman led her away from the stores they usually frequented, and toward those that carried second-hand goods.

"Um..." she hesitated to question, but Mrs. Figg understood and sighed sadly.

"I'm afraid we're on a very tight budget this year, Hermione," the squib explained. "The Ministry has seen fit to... withdraw our funding. At the moment, we're making do with the help of a few generous sponsors."

Oh. That explained the rather unappetizing food they'd been dining on for the past few weeks...

"I hope your old robes still fit?" Mrs. Figg asked anxiously, and Hermione nodded. They were a bit faded and the hems torn up, but they'd do.

At least she had some coins still, which Mr. Prince had given her for helping out at his shop, in case she really needed anything small. The other orphans didn't have that.

* * *

Interacting with Mr. Prince required another period of readjustment, as he was really a wizard unlike any other she knew. It was not as easy to remain unintimidated and unhurt by his sneers and snide remarks as it used to be. But she fell into an easy comfort much sooner than last summer. There were, after all, far more important things to worry about than one man's good opinion.

* * *

The girl was back at Hogwarts, and Severus found himself relieved. Not that he wanted Granger gone (she was much more bearable now that she'd gotten over that awkward stage and had tempered her over-eager need to share everything that was on her mind) but Hogwarts seemed safe. It was a bloody castle, after all. And Wizarding Britain was feeling increasingly unsafe recently.

There was a tension in the air that made Severus recall the months in '89 after the Berlin Wall fell, when he thought the people might rise in rebellion. Witches and wizards everywhere were unhappy, it seemed, and the Ministry's efforts to quell that were only making it worse.

The aurors had become even more reckless and arrogant; they had no inhibitions, now, about cursing someone in the street who so much as looked at them funny. Occasionally there would be news of a raid conducted on a group accused of "plotting treason." Large pictures of houses in flames, the skull and snake symbol of the aurors floating warningly above the destruction, frequently graced the front page of the _Daily Prophet_.

There was nowhere for the building tension to find release, he thought, and dreaded the possibilities. There was no centre to the rebellious movement or organized method, so far as he could tell. And any attempts to effect change would fail if they didn't go beyond rioting and protest when dealing with a wizard like Riddle. Their new minister likely had no qualms about massacring his citizenry, and there was no outside political forces pressuring him to deal with things peacefully, either. Blood-shed was the only outcome he could see.

So Severus holed up all the the more in his apothecary. If he could keep his nose clean until all of it blew over, he might just make it through alive.

* * *

To Hermione, it seemed that Hogwarts had lost some of its innocent cheer. The students returned to the castle with grim expressions, and even when they were lost in laughter and fun, there was an unspoken _something _hanging over all of their heads, reminding them that things weren't the way they should be.

Well, most of the students. There were a few in each house, but more in Slytherin, that seemed to bask in the fearful atmosphere. These were the ones that took it upon themselves to torment Hermione and the other orphans at every possible chance.

"Hey mudblood, wait up."

She walked faster. Harry beside her looked furious and ready to retaliate if she so much as breathed an encouragement.

"I said _wait_!"

A tripping hex took her down, and Hermione barely managed to drop her books in time to prevent landing flat on her face. Her hands scraped painfully against the stone floor.

Harry whirled around while drawing his wand with a snarl, but very quickly he was disarmed and put in a full-body bind. Hermione carefully sat up and looked at their attackers

It was the Lestrange cousins. The worst of the lot, they'd taken the current political clime as a personal call to arms.

"So _sorry_," Marius said with a sneer, "But you just wouldn't _listen_."

"He's pretty torn up about it," Ramona smirked. Her cousin nodded.

"I just wanted to check in, you know," he said, faux-innocent as he twirled his wand, "See how you're adjusting, now that our minister has the guts to put you in your proper place."

"Your robes don't look so nice, now," the girl observed with glee. "How does it feel, being poor? I wouldn't know, you see, so I'm curious."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something cutting, but she found herself silenced and her wand taken from where her fingers were inching toward it. She suddenly wished she had applied herself more in defence lessons.

"You know, I don't think she looks miserable enough," Marius said with a cruel smirk. "I think that'll change, though. Just give the minister some time."

"We can do something about it right now," Ramona suggested, lifting her wand.

"Hey! What are you lot up to?" a voice shouted from down the hall, and Hermione was for once very relieved to see a familiar red-headed prat.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Weasley," the girl-Lestrange said snottily.

Ron got closer and observed the scene with a frown. Hermione and Harry were on the floor, wandless, Harry bound, and the Lestranges were standing over them, wands out. It must have been obvious even to him what was going on.

"It is my business, as a prefect," he said firmly, and Hermione couldn't be more glad of that at that moment. "I think ten points, each, from Slytherin should convince you to move along?"

Ron quickly undid the body bind on Harry, and Marius snarled.

"_Please_. If you think a few points is going to convince me of _anything_, you're even dumber than I thought."

Hermione stood slowly and reached for her wand as Harry did the same.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered beside her, and she nodded shakily. Just a bit scraped up.

She almost cried in relief when she saw Professor Flitwick walking toward them from the other end of the hall, chatting with a few young Ravenclaws.

The two boys arguing saw the professor, too, and abruptly stopped snipping at each other.

The deputy headmaster eyed the five of them suspiciously, their drawn wands and their defensive postures, Hermione's and Harry's things on the floor.

"Everything all right, here?" he asked mildly. As one, the students nodded and protested that "everything's fine." If anything could unify them, it was a desire to deal with their own problems rather than run to the adults for help.

"Well, then," Professor Flitwick said, and continued slowly on his way. Hermione and Harry made sure to walk closely behind him, although they'd originally been going the other direction. Ron joined them, leaving the Lestranges seething.

"Thank you," Hermione whispered and Ron shrugged bashfully, saying.

"Yeah, well. You know. It's my job and all."

"That's never meant anything before," she reminded him sceptically. He frowned.

"There's a difference between having a bit of fun and what those bastards were doing," Ron snarled, and Hermione exchanged a surprised glance with Harry.

"We had no idea you cared, Weasley," Harry teased with a grin and Ron scoffed, red-faced. Though the two boys were team mates, neither of them cared much for the other and avoided interacting outside of practice. It drove the team captain, Katie Bell, crazy.

"I don't!" he protested. "So don't you be getting any ideas about me _liking _you, or something." He peeled away from the group and started walking.

Hermione and Harry laughed, if only to take their minds off of what had just happened.

They would be more careful in the halls after that.

* * *

Severus returned home one evening, exhausted after dealing with a complete dunderhead who refused to believe that _no_, consuming a draught of living death would not actually _kill_ you. Merlin, he would be a happy man if he just didn't have to be polite about it!

He didn't notice, at first, that his mother was gone. She was so quiet and frequently forgot to turn the lights on that it was often easy to forget she even lived there. He noticed only when dinner was ready to eat and he tried to bring a tray to her. But she was not in the sitting room, and she was not in her bedroom, and he very quickly exhausted all other possibilities.

She was simply gone.

It was maddening, because his mother hadn't left the house in years. Severus didn't think she had it in her. And where would she go? Any friends she once had gave up on her long ago, and he didn't think she knew where he keeps his coins. He checked, to be sure, but they were all accounted for.

Severus struggled to suppress his panic and think of some course of action to take short of running through the darkened streets of Hogsmeade... when there was a knock on the door. He regarded it with dread. His mother wouldn't have knocked, and who else would it be? No one good, certainly.

This was confirmed when he opened the door and was faced with Evan Rosier. Shite. What did the auror want?

"Yes?" he forced out harshly, scowling. The grim expression on the wizard's face wasn't reassuring.

"Hey, Severus. Look, uh, I don't suppose your mum is here?" Rosier asked, and didn't look at all surprised when Severus shook his head. "Yeah... There's no real good way to put this. I need you to come help identify a body. I saw it and... I think it's hers."

The next few hours were a blur. Severus accompanied Rosier to St. Mungo's, and then followed him to the mortuary. The sheet was pulled back...

The eyes were clouded, the face frozen in torment, but there was no doubt that it was Eileen Prince.

"It's her, then?" Rosier asked, and he nodded.

"How-?" Severus asked faintly, still staring at his mother's cold corpse.

Rosier explained that a couple aurors found her at the edge of Hogsmeade trying to get though the Wall. After they disarmed her she had simply clawed at it with her hands, sobbing. They warned her to stand back, and when she hadn't...

"They were a bit wand-happy, I guess," he said, looking embarrassed. "She wasn't right in the head, from the sounds of it, and got a tad violent when they pulled her away."

"Who-? No... don't tell me, I would really rather not know," Severus said, his features pinched.

"I'm really sorry, mate," Rosier said with an impressive amount of sympathy, considering, and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "But maybe it's better, yeah? If she was off her rocker, like they said ..."

The auror chuckled nervously, and Severus stared at him with incredulity.

"Erm... They can keep the body here until you're ready for the burial," Rosier told him, so _sensitive,_ as always, to the feelings of others. "Just give them a floo call when you have things figured out. You need help getting back home?"

He shook his head and left the room quickly, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and the very tangible reminder that his mother was now... dead.

Severus ate dinner alone that night and every night thereafter, feeling keenly the gaping hole where his mother once was... silent, yes, but a beloved human presence whom he could at least have one-sided conversations with. If, occasionally, a few tears escaped his eyes as he sat alone... Well. He certainly had reason.

The funeral, a week later, was a very small affair held in the graveyard in Hogsmeade. A few former schoolmates of his mother's were there, and they departed immediately at the end after offering their condolences. He invited no one else.

Severus cast the spell to entomb his mother's body in the ground himself, and placed a nice bouquet of flowers at the grave marker.

She was buried next to his father.


	10. Step 10

**Step 10**

* * *

The next day was a Sunday, and rather than read or experiment as he usually did Severus decided that he ought to clean out his mother's room. If not then, he was afraid he never would. And it seemed to him that it would be somewhat unhealthy to leave her room untouched as though she were still here. So he sifted through her things, clothing and knick-knacks, sorting the too worn and the broken from the precious keepsakes and favourite garments. It was a slow process, as he frequently paused to reminisce.

He couldn't think of a reason he should keep some of those things, but he was reluctant to get rid of them. More was designated for keeps than not.

He put the things to keep in her old trunk and bagged the things to get rid of. Severus would donate them to some charity in the morning. Finally he approached her vanity table where he knew she kept the very few pieces of Prince heirloom jewelery that hadn't been pawned. But when he opened the drawer there were few surprises lying on top of the expected, small boxes.

An old scarf he had never seen her wear, a small stub of paper that he thought may be a ticket to something called "The Horse's Mouth"... and a folded letter that said "Severus" on the front of it.

He lifted the parchment and carefully unfolded it, completely unable to predict its message or origin. The handwriting was shaky and smeared in places but could nevertheless be read clearly.

_Dearest Severus,_

_I'm so sorry. That's all I can really think to say. I should have said it years ago. I should have said a lot of things years ago. Among them, the truth._

_You're not your father's son. That is, you are, but your real father is another man entirely. A muggle man named Tobias Snape. I meant to tell you, I really did, but it was so much easier to hide behind the lie. The lie was important, of course, because I would have been arrested if the Ministry knew I had a child with a muggle. But I never meant to lie to you._

_I loved your father; he was a good friend since childhood and a saint for taking me in and claiming you. But I loved Tobias so much more. I don't know if you know what it's like to live only for someone else, half of a whole, and feel like your entire life up until meeting them you were just biding your time until you could truly live. We had so little time together, but I knew I could never love the same way again._

_My parents had a home near Manchester, and I went with a few of my school friends to explore the muggle city the year after I left Hogwarts. I met Tobias at a pub, which isn't very romantic, I know, but I would have been happy anywhere as long as I was with him. The next few months were heaven, as I would sneak out to visit Tobias. Neither of us had much money for fancy dates, but we were so in love it didn't matter if we were hungry in the park. _

_I don't think you want to hear the details, of course, but suffice it to say I became pregnant with you fairly quickly. It was devastating, because by that time marrying or having a child with a muggle was forbidden. Should the Ministry have known, they would have sent me to Azkaban for years. My parents would never have taken you in, and you would have become a child of the state._

_But your father agreed to shelter us, for which I will forever be grateful. Having him made things bearable for so many years... But since he's died, I can no longer avoid the regret and longing. I wanted to tell you so strongly, but every time I tried I became mute. How could I reveal my shame? I should have loved your father, I should have married him. Instead, I've been pining after Tobias._

_I so miss him. I'm sorry to admit I had some idea that after you were old enough, I would run away and find him again. But then the Wall went up and I'd lost my chance completely._

There was a large blot of ink as if she'd let the quill's nib rest on the parchment to bleed as she paused in thought.

_I'm so tired, Severus. Of wishes and regrets and lies. I just want to be with my Tobias. I need him. I've decided to find him. I just can't do this any more. But I had to tell you, first. I'm so sorry._

_I love you,_

_Your Mum_

Severus collapsed to sit on the bed stripped of its sheets, feeling a confusing tangle of emotions as he clutched the letter tightly in his hand. Disbelief, sorrow, pity, confusion... and anger. Anger at his mother, yes, for lying to him, for falling apart at the loss of some muggle, for leaving him... But mostly anger at the Ministry that forbade her love, that kept him from knowing his real father, that destroyed his mother. And anger at himself, for cowering in his home while the world fell to shite, while more tragedies like hers played out, while pointless prejudice kept smart people like Lily from employment. It was people like him, yielding sheep, that made the actions of the Ministry possible, that made his mother's death possible.

No longer. It was too late for his mother, but he'd be damned if he lets things continue as they were. Aurors running rampant over citizenry, the economy in shambles, blatant bigotry given sway...

Severus was determined, then, to see this nonsense to a satisfying conclusion even if it killed him. Which, he acknowledged, was quite likely.

* * *

But saving Wizarding Britain from tyranny proved easier said than done. He was not a complete imbecile and didn't have any illusions that it would be simple. Severus recognized first thing that he could not possibly do it alone. But he recognized just as quickly that he had no way of organizing people on the scale that he needed. He had no friends, honestly, and certainly he knew of no one whom he could trust with the knowledge that he was plotting a revolution.

That sense of helpless frustration came in the midst of an identity crisis as well. Severus had always identified as a pureblood wizard, and to find suddenly that his father was a _muggle_ and he was in fact a halfblood... it was unsettling that his first instinct was disgust and a shaken self-confidence. It was unsettling to realize that, despite the best efforts of his mother, he still retained some prejudice as conditioned by the greater society. Despite all his experiences to the contrary, he still retained some hidden belief that purity of blood was significant.

It was an uncomfortable awakening, a sort of self-awareness that he could happily have done without. But he supposed it was better to know of it, so to work on eliminating the prejudice.

Severus was contemplating his weakness and hopeless situation while taking a stroll outside. He hadn't had the urge to read or brew much since his mother's passing. He was seriously contemplating giving up on the whole saving the world from the lunatic thing. Honestly, what could one wizard do against an army of trained aurors? His entire scheme was naïve and doomed from the start.

A piercing call prompted Severus to look up and see the silhouette of a bird circling in the sky. He squinted with annoyance and then returned to looking at the ground with a scowl. Depression clouded his mind.

It was a bitterly cold evening and few people were in the streets, at least in the residential district where he lived. So there was no one else around to be witness to the sudden, sharp dive of the bird from above. It came perilously close to clipping Severus with its wings, who was startled into stumbling back frantically, cursing loudly.

"Bleeding hell!"

The bird was falling so rapidly Severus was sure it would dive straight into the cobblestones, but it disappeared abruptly in a flash of fire just a foot from the ground. Another burst of flame drew his attention to where the bird was now perched on a fence post, only yards away. It stared at him intelligently with dark eyes.

Slightly calmer and from a distance, Severus stared back at the creature with confusion and awe. The brightly coloured plumage, the fiery entrance... clearly he was in the presence of a phoenix. But _why_? They were extremely rare, not native to Scotland, and almost never domesticated. What on earth was it doing here, in the middle of a city? Perhaps it was a bit addled...

"Hello…" he intoned uncertainly, without much thought, and the bird chirped musically. It hopped from fence post to fence post until it was perched alongside him. Severus stood frozen. It—_he_, Severus was suddenly certain that it was a he—chirped again and moved closer to nudge the wizard's shoulder with his beak. Perhaps in a sort of greeting?

Severus found himself unable to resist relaxing and lifting a hand to stroke the bird's feathers gently. A word echoed persistently in his mind...

"Fawkes," he said, somehow sure that this was the creature's name. "Fawkes" trilled in seeming agreement and Severus smiled despite his previously poor mood.

He was filled with an uncharacteristic optimism, a sense that his situation was not so grim as he thought before. When he turned to walk home, Fawkes alternatively hopped and flew behind, and Severus couldn't bring himself to feel anything but joy.

"Please, he followed me home. May I keep him?" he muttered to himself with bemusement as the bird glided through the door.

The answer was a resounding yes, as Fawkes seemed to decide that his home was now with Severus. The bird left occasionally in a burst of flame to scavenge and find food, but he always returned.

Severus couldn't say that he really minded. Fawkes appeared to have some inexplicable ability to not only manipulate emotions with song but to convey information through a mental connection, as well. The prospect of company and unfettered joy was, at first, irresistible.

* * *

Severus was inspired by the phoenix's ability to communicate somehow via the mind to research the mental arts. He had once read a brief article about the nature of legilimency, and so purchased a... less than legal book on the subject in order to learn how to do it. (One book purchased from the black market in Knockturn Alley would hardly be the worst of his crimes, soon enough.)

The theory was intriguing, and if he could master it legilimency would prove useful in determining whom he could trust to involve in his plans. It certainly seemed much more subtle and versatile than veratiserum. His abilities with wandless, nonverbal spells would hopefully keep the process unnoticeable.

But first he had to practice. For lack of any other test subject, he used Fawkes.

It was disorienting, at first, and Severus wondered how much of that was legilimency itself and how much was because Fawkes was not human. The bird's mind was a swirl of images and sensations. Flying over mountaintops, gathering seeds and fruit to feast upon, looking at the stars. On one occasion Severus registered a sort of familiar yearning that he believed to be...

"Hunger?" he mused out loud, still connected to the phoenix's mind. "Are you hungry?"

Fawkes chirped, and Severus was assaulted with an image of a tree ripe with nuts. He pulled away.

"I don't care for nuts so I have none to give you, but I can find something, I'm sure.."

He searched his kitchen. His owl treats were at the apothecary with Noctua. They probably wouldn't be suitable for an herbivorous bird like a phoenix anyway. After a time, he reluctantly offered Fawkes a peach from his cupboard.

Fawkes poked at it curiously with his beak for a moment before quickly devouring the entire fruit, even the pit. Severus stared at the bird in annoyance.

"Those have to be imported you know," he grumbled. Fawkes burst into song, and Severus was overwhelmed to feel the phoenix's joy at the meal. It took him a few moments to compose himself and huff dismissively. "Just don't expect me to share in the future."

The phoenix seemed to take this as a challenge and bothered him frequently over the next few weeks with images of the small fruit and sensations of demanding hunger. Severus eventually learned to occlude his mind simply out of self-preservation.

"You survived for years in the wild without me, I'm sure," he told the phoenix, "You're perfectly capable of finding your own food."

When he eventually chose to have a peach for himself in a rare moment of self-indulgence, Fawkes sang sadly and Severus smirked, unaffected. At least until the bird darted in to snatch it, avoiding the wizard's swatting hands. Severus cursed.

"You're far more trouble than you're worth, bird," he sneered, and detected a strong sense of amusement emanating from the phoenix. He gave up with disgust.

* * *

Once Severus felt competent enough at legilimency to subtly determine someone's loyalties (his first few attempts on unsuspecting customers were rather disastrous and required careful handling to resolve), he had to decide who to approach. His first thought was of Lily, and though he tried his best to think of a better alternative Severus could think of no one he knew who was more likely to want to see the Ministry fall, nor more capable of helping.

So he found the Potters' new address in a directory and was surprised to discover that they lived only blocks away. How convenient. Severus walked to the town-house listed one chilly evening when he could be certain that they were home, and knocked on the door briskly.

It was opened, to his disappointment, by Potter, looking far older than he remembered. The wizard stared at Severus with shock and wary confusion.

"Prince?"

"Snape. It's Severus Snape, now," he said firmly, suppressing his dislike for the man in front of him and offering no further explanation. It was none of Potter's business. Severus hadn't gone to the trouble of changing his name legally, not with the Ministry in the state it was, but it felt right, somehow, to honour his mother's feelings in that way. He had never met his real father, but he could at least acknowledge the man by taking his name.

"Snape, then," Potter allowed, looking only more confused. "Why are you here?"

"I had hoped to speak with your... wife." Severus forced himself to speak in polite and neutral tones. He had enough practice by then in dealing with customers that it was almost easy.

"I'm afraid this is a really bad time," Potter said with a frown, narrowing the gap between the door and its frame almost imperceptibly.

Severus felt a sharp spike of impatience. This was going nowhere. What could he say that could possibly convince Potter that he had no ill intentions? Giving it up as a bad job, Severus stunned Potter (surely he would be forgiven once he explained his purpose) and pushed past him into the house. Only to stop short upon reaching the sitting room.

The sitting room filled with people, all looking so terrified and guilty even as they sat harmlessly with their drinks that they could only be there for one reason. Severus barely resisted the urge to laugh.

"Well. This is convenient," he said with a smirk as Lily stood, clearly shocked. Severus was relieved to note that he felt no twinge of longing as the witch approached him cautiously.

"Severus!" she cried, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for the same reason as all of you, I should think," he said smoothly.

"What do you mean?" Lily asked nervously, and many of her guests shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't you think you should introduce me?" He changed the subject, and she hesitantly obliged to keep the appearance of a harmless social gathering as she began to go around the room introducing him to everyone. Lily regarded him with confusion when he corrected her about his name, but Severus felt no more inclined to explain to her than he did her husband.

The introductions were a tasking process as Severus made sure to take each person's hand and look into their eyes piercingly. No doubt they were even more uncomfortable in his presence as a result, but the introductions had served their purpose. He was certain that none of them intended to tattle.

After he conjured a chair and took a seat (everyone around him edged subtly to get away), there was an awkward silence. Lily broke it to ask nervously,

"Where is James?"

Oh yes. He'd quite forgotten. A flick of his hand and the man soon ran in from the entrance hall, wand raised and appearing frantic. Potter looked very confused to find the room undisturbed, Severus sitting nonchalantly amid the guests.

"I can't believe you stunned me!" Potter shouted, and everyone turned to look at Severus, aghast.

"You weren't going to let me in," he defended, and Lily looked annoyed.

"The polite response would be to _leave_, then," she told him, and he shrugged.

"And never meet all of these lovely people?" Severus drawled snidely. He couldn't resist needling her further. Her hostility made him angry even though it was deserved. It brought back memories of their arguments, years ago, which he'd almost forgotten in favour of regretful nostalgia. "I thought you'd be happy to see an old friend, Lily."

The witch visibly restrained herself from snapping at him by taking a deep breath and smiling insincerely.

"Of course, Severus. But this isn't the best time..." she said forcefully.

"Really? Such a gathering seems the perfect time, to me. It's thrilling to be introduced to all of your... new friends," he told her flatly, wondering if she would admit to the true purpose of the meeting.

To her credit, she seemed unwilling to fess up. That boded well for her survival.

"I think we'd all prefer it if you left," Potter scowled, and Severus met his eyes with a glare.

"And here I thought you would welcome an addition to your makeshift bunch of revolutionaries," he sneered, finally fed up with the game. There was a collective gasp.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about," Potter said firmly, and Severus barely resisted rolling his eyes.

"It was obvious from the moment I walked in. I would recommend you improve your alibis and acting skills before you're found out by someone inclined to report you," he said, addressing everyone. "Luckily, I'm a sympathizer to your cause and would like to join in the discussion despite the extraordinary lack of subtlety displayed."

There was a general shifting and turning of heads as everyone in the room looked at each other, wondering whether or not to trust him.

"It sounds like he could have some valuable input," Frank Longbottom said, the first acknowledgement of their intentions, and his wife agreed with a nod. Severus vaguely recognized them as having been at Hogwarts a few years above him. "I say, let him stay."

There was some grumbling—Potter began to argue vehemently until Lily forced him to hush—but the consensus seemed to be one of tentative agreement.

"Thank you," Severus acknowledged Longbottom with a nod. "Your trust in my honesty is refreshing, but I must admit it is also naïve. If we are to continue, I think everyone ought to take an unbreakable vow, pledging their loyalty and silence."

"What!" Potter shouted incredulously. There were some similar exclamations from their audience. "Are you mad? Breaking an unbreakable vow means death!"

"Exactly," he said firmly. "Which assures that no one will break it. In a similar vein, anyone unwilling to take a vow should be obliviated and sent home."

The Weasley matriarch—Molly, was it?—stared at him with vocally expressed disgust. Others, as well, but she was the one to ask,

"Do you have no morals?"

He met her gaze steadily until she looked away nervously.

"_Morals_," Severus sneered, "are of little value when you're _dead_. And I assure you, madam, should the aurors catch any of us plotting to overthrow the Ministry, we will all be very dead, but only after a bout of prolonged, maddening torture."

He looked around the room slowly, and his audience was both horrified and captivated.

"We are speaking of taking on a group of wizards trained in the dark arts. They take pleasure in other people's pain, and are legally licensed to kill. Is it really a surprise that the stakes are high?" he questioned with equal disgust. "Do you not realize the gravity of our situation? Have you made any plans at all?" And when no one spoke, just shifted and looks at the floor, "I see... I suppose you had hoped the new minister might just step down if you _asked nicely_."

Potter became riled anew and snapped,

"And who are you to criticize us? What have you done to go against the Ministry? You were _one of them! _Are we really supposed to believe that you've turned a new leaf, a hero suddenly come to save the day?

"You may believe what you wish," Severus told him coldly. "But it is clear to me that something must be done, and it is equally clear that none of you know what that is. I came here hoping that I might find allies in the struggle for a better world, but it seems I've found passive gossipers instead, content to whinge instead of actually affecting any change."

He made a show of standing to leave, and gullible, hot-headed Potter took the bait. The wizard stood quickly, furious.

"Just because I have a _family_ to protect doesn't mean that I'm not dedicated to seeing the Ministry overturned!" he growled, and Lily pulled him back down to the sofa.

"_James!_" she hissed forcefully, and the couple began to bicker in forceful whispers drowned out by the mutterings of everyone in the room. Severus waited.

Someone's wand release a loud _bang_ and everyone fell into startled silence. A soft but firm voice spoke from the back of the room.

"We all know he's right," a wizard named Benjy Fenwick said. "It's going to take more than talk. I have a family too, but I think the best thing for them... for everyone, is to see this through. Things have gone from bad to worse, and will only go down. This Mr. Snape seems to know what's what. Shut your gobs and let him speak."

Severus allowed the quiet to permeate for a moment before telling them slowly,

"The first consideration should be organisation. If we are to be effective, we need formal leadership and a stated goal. We need a name. Juvenile as it may seem, it is important to encourage loyalty and a sense of unity."

He knew first-hand how effective a sense of unity and loyalty in an organisation could be. Auror training wasn't just about learning how to emerge victor in a scuffle, after all.

"And I suppose that leader would be _you_?" Potter scoffed and Severus was startled. Honestly, he hadn't even considered it. He had thought about gathering people together, yes, but after that he imagined some undetermined other would take charge, leaving him to offer advice from the background. Severus had never considered himself any sort of leader.

Neither had Potter obviously, but everyone else looked surprisingly accepting of the idea now that they'd seen the wisdom of his words and were resigned to action.

"Makes sense," Longbottom said, and there were similar sentiments voiced by others. When it seemed that all his guests were in agreement, Potter stood again with a snarl.

"I'm not going to be part of anything led by this bastard," he declared, and started to walk from the room, Lily tugging at his hand ineffectually.

He was prevented from leaving, however, by a burst of flame in his path that took the shape of Fawkes. The phoenix hovered in front of Potter for a moment before soaring to land on Severus's shoulder with a loud cry. As talons dug into his flesh Severus let out a hiss of pain and muttered, "bloody pigeon." He received a sharp peck for that.

Meanwhile, everyone else in the room stood frozen in stunned awe.

"Severus," Lily told him shakily, "there's a phoenix on your shoulder..."

"Believe me, I'm quite aware," he said, wincing. "In which case, I suppose I'm obliged to introduce you. This is Fawkes."

"You have a phoenix for a familiar?" someone asked incredulously, and Severus looked at the creature speculatively. Fawkes returned his look with a tilted head. A familiar?

"You might say that," he said noncommittally and there was a round of impressed murmuring.

Potter opened his mouth to continue being obnoxious, but Fawkes cut him off by bursting into soothing song. Severus intentionally resisted the effects even as everyone else in the room visibly relaxed. Potter's expression smoothed into a pleasant smile.

"Woah," the wizard said, and Severus smirked with amusement. He was not entirely sure he approved of using song as some sort of narcotic to manipulate others into being more agreeable, but Severus had to admit that it made things easier.

"The Order of the Phoenix," one women said cheerfully. Emmeline Vance, he believed. "That's what we should call ourselves! It sounds noble, don't you think? And we've already got the mascot."

Severus raised an eyebrow and decided to ignore the rather insulting designation of Fawkes as a _mascot_ for a revolutionary organisation. The name was a reasonable suggestion. Everyone seemed pleased to agree with the appellation, but he couldn't tell if it was genuine agreement or an effect of the phoenix song. It seemed as good a name as any, however, and they could bloody well live with it if they didn't like it. So he nodded.

"You're the _de facto_ leader, then?" Potter asked with surprising calm, and Severus eyed him cautiously. How strong _was_ that phoenix song?

"Perhaps we should hold a more formal nomination and vote once everyone has had some time to reflect on the matter," Severus said slowly. Alice Longbottom scoffed.

"Nonsense. You're the best wizard for the job. We've all said as much," she objected. Severus was floored when Potter nodded and said,

"You are. We've been meeting for months and haven't gotten anywhere, then you come and suddenly we have some direction. You have ideas and the drive to see them succeed. Um..." He shifted a bit uncomfortably before offering his hand. "Sorry about before. That stunner left me a bit irked, you know? And with our history..."

Severus took the wizard's hand reluctantly. "Yes... that wasn't my best moment," he allowed.

There was a silence as the entire room packed full of witches and wizards watched him with eager anticipation. It was an odd sensation. Being on the receiving end of so much genuine respect felt extremely foreign. One day he was a misanthropic shopkeeper with no one but an over-grown pigeon for company, and the next he was the centre of a small organization. Not friends, no, but he was respected, at least. Those who might hardly have taken note of him the day before as merely a service worker, now turned to him for wisdom. It gave him a sudden rush of confidence.

"Well, then," Severus drawled. "Perhaps someone would like to summarize what you've discussed so far? Clearly we're all here to see the Ministry fall, but what do we intend to see happen once that goal is accomplished?"

For a time the newly designated Order of the Phoenix occupied itself in hopeful discussion. Severus felt curiously proud. There was something about the group dynamic that reminded him pleasantly of... camaraderie.


	11. Step 11

**Step 11**

* * *

Hermione was reading up on silent spell-casting in the common room, Crookshanks in her lap, when the Gryffindor Quidditch Team entered through the portrait in a wave of boisterous chatter. Katie Bell had her arm around a small second year who had clearly been crying recently. Katie looked concerned and angry while Harry and Ron were nudging each other with large grins, bantering back and forth.

"And did you see her face after you cast that _densaugeo_? Brilliant, mate!" Ron said loudly, laughing. "She looked like a rabid beaver!" Harry shrugged but he laughed, too. (Hermione swiped her tongue across her front teeth self-consciously. They'd always been a bit large.)

Hermione couldn't be sure who they were talking about. However, she could easily guess.

A new program had been introduced at Hogwarts to the pleasure of some and displeasure of many. Those above the age of seventeen who had earned consistently suitable marks in the required subjects (and had other, unspecified "qualities") were now invited to apply to take part in Future Agents of Industry and Leadership, or FAIL. Acceptance meant an early promise of employment in certain departments at the Ministry after leaving Hogwarts (provided that NEWT scores were strong), and it was a very tempting offer for those who were worried about their future prospects in the work force.

Hermione was not at all tempted, and she had the feeling that she'd be rejected even if she did apply. Not because of her marks, which were the best in her class, but because of her blood status. The Ministry didn't say it outright in their rejection letters, of course, but enough fellow-orphans had applied and been rebuffed that Hermione could draw the right conclusions.

It was dispiriting and humiliating to be the subject of such shameless discrimination from what should be a neutral party. Hermione wondered if, someday, she might find herself unemployable by _anyone_ despite her intelligence and magical skill. But that was a worry for her future. She had another year left, after this one, and a more immediate problem was those who _were_ members of this FAIL.

The future Ministry employees had frequent meetings at Hogwarts, and were given permission to attend educational seminars during the weekends at the Ministry. They returned with pamphlets such as _Blood and Pure Magic _and books with titles like _The Mudblood Problem. _These young witches and wizards had become somewhat of a gang, prowling the corridors with their identifying badges, and at the head—Marius and Ramona Lestrange. The cousins' badges displayed the skull and snake symbol of the aurors, which they were already slated to become. Hermione was unsurprised at this development, if only because she couldn't possibly have imagined anything worse.

If she once thought the corridors were dangerous before, she was proven wrong once the worst of the bullies were given some sort of legitimacy. They would pick a fight any time with anyone, and only the presence of a professor kept them at bay. Almost by necessity, non-members began to travel in large groups and practice their defence skills in the common room. In this way, the worst of the injuries were prevented.

The hospital wing had seen a lot more students recently, although none of them will tell Madam Pomfrey or the professors why. Hermione thought they know anyway.

In any case, it was likely Ramona Lestrange that Harry and Ron were talking about hexing, or at least one of the other girls in the program. They wouldn't take such relish in hexing anyone else. Given the presence of the shaken second-year, the quidditch team probably came upon the Slytherin tormenting the young Gryffindor and rushed to defend their house-mate.

Harry and Ron came over to collapse in the sofa across from her, still in their dirty quidditch gear. She wrinkled her nose disapprovingly, but the boys didn't seem to notice. Crookshanks jumped down from her lap to rub against Harry's leg, and then disappeared up the stairs to the dormitory.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said. Ron just smiled charmingly.

Harry had become tentative friends with Ron, having bonded over mutual loathing of the Lestranges and company, but Hermione stayed emotionally distant from the red-head. She hadn't forgotten the early years of name-calling and insults, even if he regarded her kindly, now.

For a while she felt neglected and hurt that Harry would want to be friends with the prat, but eventually she decided that it was probably for the better. Hermione had no interest in quidditch or many of the things that Harry liked, so it was nice that he had a friend with more in common. It _must_ have been nice, to be able to talk on and on about a subject and have someone take genuine interest...

"What was that all about?" she asked them, nodding toward Katie and the second year. The boys lost their smiles, but Ron maintained a grim smirk.

"Nothing new, really," Harry told her. "Just Lestrange being a bitch."

"But we sure showed her," Ron said with pride. "I doubt she'll try it again any time soon."

Hermione hummed sceptically. More likely, she'd just come back twice as vindictive.

"Why don't you change out of your smelly practice robes and work on non-verbal shield charms with me?" she offered, and they were surprisingly eager to comply.

Something about there being an obvious, real-life application to the lessons left them more eager to study than anything else possibly could. Even so, she wished things were different.

* * *

Despite her love of learning, Hermione was happy to return to Diagon Alley for the summer after exams. Being at Hogwarts had brought her far too much anxiety lately since she had to constantly watch her back, and she thought being back at the orphanage would prove a relief.

In some ways, it was. Things were different now that she was seventeen. Since she was now legally an adult and could live somewhere else if she chose (she didn't since she was without the funds), Hermione had fewer restrictions (not that she usually abided by them before) and responsibilities. Although there were some rules, she was free to come and go and do magic without Mrs. Figg's knowledge or consent. It was a pleasant change.

In other ways, Diagon Alley proved no more a safe haven than Hogwarts. Witches and wizards, especially the aurors, eyed her suspiciously and with contempt when she walked down the street wearing her shabby, uniform robes that marked her as an orphan. So Hermione used the last of her coins to purchase more generic summer robes and a cloak. She walked with her hood up, then, and was not out of place. It seemed to her that Diagon Alley resembled Knockturn Alley more and more each year.

That morning she was on her way to Mr. Prince's apothecary. The last several evenings she had tried to visit, the shop was closed, much to her surprise. It was hours after most shops in the Alley shut down, but Hermione had grown used to Mr. Prince being there almost constantly. Surely he still owned the shop? Their infrequent correspondence had tapered off over the years to only a brief salutation during the holidays, but he would tell her if his circumstances had changed drastically, wouldn't he? Today she was trying during regular business hours with the hope that the store would be open.

Thankfully, it was. Yet when she entered the apothecary Mr. Prince was nowhere to be seen. Hermione hesitated, but boldly made her way through the hall behind the counter. She had been here many times, after all, and she doubted he would mind. Likely he was just busy brewing.

As she passed his office she heard voices and paused outside the door.

"...sure he can be trusted?" Mr. Prince asked, and there was a muffled response. Only some of the unknown wizard's words could be heard. "...Anything like the last one... standard procedure... unknown..."

"Tomorrow, then," Mr. Prince said, and there was silence. Before she could knock, the wizard pulled open the door and stared down at her. Hermione wasn't sure who was more startled.

"Miss Granger," he said, his expression not entirely welcoming. She noticed that he had cut his hair, it was trimmed to just above his shoulders now and was unbound. Behind him the room was empty of another wizard, but the blazing fire was telling. He must have been using the floo.

She smiled nervously and said,

"Hello, Mr. Prince."

"Snape," he said absently, pulling the door closed behind him and gesturing for her to precede him down the hall toward the lab.

"What?" she asked, confused, and he looked confused as well, as if he didn't realize he'd spoken. Then realization seemed to dawn.

"Snape," he repeated. "I've come to learn that it's my biological father's name, and so I would be prefer to be addressed as Snape." The wizard stood awkwardly for a moment, frowning, but she still didn't move toward the lab.

"Biological father?" she asked with unthinking impertinence.

"Yes... A muggle," he said, almost daring her to comment with his expression. "Apparently my mother had us all fooled."

"Oh!" she gasped, and after a bit of thought couldn't help but smile. His eyes narrowed. "Sorry, it's just... I'm pleased to learn that someone so successful has a muggle parent, as well, you see?"

The wizard regarded her curiously for a moment before abruptly turning and sweeping down the hall.

"I suppose you're here to brew," Mr. Pri-_Snape_ said shortly as they enter the lab.

"Uh... sure." Actually, she had just wanted to come see him. Hermione didn't feel much like brewing a potion at that moment. But what else would they do? It occurred to her that they'd never really had any sort of personal discussion. Or at least, not from his side. His explanation about the name-change was as personal as he'd ever gotten. But why would he want to talk to her about himself? After all, she was just... a pupil? Employee? Nuisance? He'd been a mentor to her, but could they really be considered friends?

Hermione thought she'd like to be his friend, but how to reach that point? Perhaps she could begin by asking,

"How have you been?"

"Pardon?" he asked, looking at her oddly in the middle of moving a cauldron on top of the burner.

"How are you?" she repeated, less certain. Mr. Prince... _Mr. Snape_ just scowled and filled the cauldron with a non-verbal _aguamenti_.

"If you would please gather the ingredients for a blood-replenishing potion," he directed, ignoring her question.

Hermione complied with a sigh, heading to the cupboard where he stored the ingredients for his own potions. Friend-making wasn't a strength of hers, obviously.

* * *

It was only a few days later when Hermione was shaken from sleep by the small hands of a house-elf.

"Miss!" a voice squeaked, and she opened her eyes blearily to see Pidgy staring down at her with wide, luminous eyes. "Miss must wake and pack your things!"

"What?" she rasped, but the house-elf was already moving on to wake Hannah, Alice, and Liz. Judging by the lack of light coming in from the window, it was still the middle of the night.

"Misses must wake and pack your things!" Pidgy continued to repeat and the girls slowly got out of bed. They could hear the entire orphanage waking up, voices buzzing through the walls as the children stirred.

"What's all this about?" Hannah asked sulkily, refusing to budge.

"Must _pack!_" the house-elf demanded firmly. And with a snap of his fingers, Hanna's trunk was open and her scattered knick-knacks flew inside. The other girls shared an uneasy glance before taking their wands and following suit.

Under Pidgy's direction, they all stumbled into the hall where orphans began to gather with their things, dressed haphazardly.

"Where are we going, Pidgy?" Hermione asked softly, but the house-elf only shook his head and gestured for them to follow him downstairs.

The ground floor was in chaos. All the orphans were huddled with their things, and even the very young ones were grouped in a corner with the house-elves that cared for them. Some were crying.

At the centre of it all stood a distraught Mrs. Figg and a scowling Mr. Snape, along with another wizard whom Hermione didn't recognize. Hermione shoved her way to stand in front of them, and Mr. Snape's gaze barely flickered to look at her as she asked,

"What's going on, sir?"

Mr. Snape lifted his wand to his throat to cast a _sonorus_ charm and hissed, "Silence!" His voice resonated loudly and the orphans abruptly stopped talking, though some of the toddlers continued to whimper.

"When Mrs. Figg calls your name," he continued softly, words echoing, "You will take a portkey from Mr. Fenwick, here, and travel to your new residence. This is not optional. Your safety and well being depend upon your compliance."

He ended the charm and turned to Mrs. Figg with a stiff nod, who shouted into the shocked silence,

"Hannah Abbott, Frederick York, Delia Reed..." A group of about ten, including one two-year old and a house-elf, gathered around Mr. Fenwick nervously.

"Longbottom," Mr. Snape muttered, and Mr. Fenwick nodded before transfiguring a quill into a boot (easier to grab onto), tapping it with his wand, and giving it to the orphans and house-elf. Within seconds they had disappeared.

"Sir," Hermione asked again, pleadingly, "What's going on?"

"You will have your explanation later, Miss Granger, once everything is settled," he told her with a scowl.

Another group was called and gathered around Mr. Fenwick. Soon after a muttered "Meadowes" from Mr. Snape, they were gone. A few more groups and eventually Hermione's name was called, along with Colin Creevey, his brother Dennis, and several others.

"Mr. Snape," she whispered, beginning to feel panicked—where were they sending her? She was sure that Mr. Snape could be trusted to keep them safe, but... "Might I just stay with you?" She edged closer to him, and he seemed exasperated.

"Surely you'd rather be with Potter?" he sneered, and she was startled. Harry? Was than an option? How was he part of this? What _was_ going on? But she shook her head. As good a friend as Harry was, Hermione would feel much safer with Mr. Snape. And whatever was happening, it was clear that some sort of danger was involved. Why else would they be evacuating the orphanage in the middle of the night without prior notice?

The wizard gave her a narrow glance before sighing and muttering "Snape" to Mr. Fenwick, who nodded with an amused grin and created the portkey. Still, she hesitated.

"_Go_," he growled, "After a time, I'll join you. Just don't leave the house."

"But, Crookshanks!" she gasped, what would happen to him if she left? He was likely outside with the other cats, she couldn't possibly leave him!

"Will be fine, I'll see to it," he told her. "Just _go._"

Reluctantly, she joined her group around the quill-turned-boot and grabbed hold. Hermione was reassured by Mr. Snape's calm gaze as a tugging behind her navel pulled her from one space...

...and into another.

The sitting room was dark, and Hermione silently cast a _lumos_, illuminating the full bookshelves lining each wall and the furniture occupying the floor space. The abundance of books drew her attention, but it was the bird napping on a perch by the fireplace that really captured her eye.

Was that a _phoenix_?

Her jaw dropped, and the bird slowly stirred from its slumber, blinking and chirping softly. The other orphans, at first huddled fearfully around their trunks where the portkey had deposited them, crowded around the phoenix, cooing and stroking its glorious, scarlet and gold plumage while the creature preened happily.

Soon, it burst into song. The notes were at once soothing and uplifting, calming and inspiring. Whatever fear and anxiety she previously felt left her, and was replaced by a happy, sleepy peace. The others began to scatter, finding a sofa, armchair, or even the floor to rest their suddenly heavy heads. Only the house-elf, Opy, seems unaffected, but even she settled in the corner for a comfortable rest.

Hermione tried to resist, fighting to keep her eyelids from drooping and her knees from collapsing. She had to wait for Mr. Snape! The phoenix continued to sing, but eventually tapered off in the face of her resentful glare. Everyone else had already fallen asleep.

The bird looked at her with what she swore was amusement, before ruffling its feathers and settling down to continue its own slumber. The sleepiness hadn't left her entirely, but Hermione was determined to be awake when Mr. Snape joined them as he'd promised. For lack of anything else to do (and admittedly, a strong curiosity and bibliophilic desire) she selected a book from the shelves and sat on the floor (every piece of furniture occupied), leaning against the shelves to read about the history of analgesic potions.

It was hours later, when light was beginning to creep its way through the curtains covering the windows, that Mr. Snape finally portkeyed into the room accompanied by James Potter. Both wizards looked completely knackered.

"Hello, Mr. Snape, Mr. Potter" she said hoarsely, somehow entirely unsurprised to see Harry's father, and the two turned to look at her after a delayed pause. They nodded wearily in greeting.

"Where-?" Mr. Potter asked with a heavy sigh, and Mr. Snape gestured at the wall opposite the hearth.

"Behind the bookcase, I think," he said, and Mr. Potter raised his wand, taking a deep breath. The wizard began to chant in words that Hermione didn't understand, while Mr. Snape lay a hand on his shoulder to offer strength. Both looked entirely focused, and Hermione could feel the magic building in the room. It was so intense she was surprised it hadn't woken any of the others.

What must have been minutes later, the rising magic resolved with a snap and the two wizards slumped over. Mr. Snape removed his hand.

"Thank Merlin that's the last," Mr. Potter groaned, and Mr. Snape nodded in agreement.

"Thank you," he said flatly, clearly exhausted, "I can set the final wards tomorrow. Do you need a sofa to sleep on, or can you make your way home?"

Mr. Potter waved a hand vaguely and mumbled,

"I'm all right. 's not so far." He staggered to the front door and let himself out, while Hermione and Mr. Snape barely muttered a goodbye.

"Sir," she began to say, struggled to stand, and then fell back against the bookcase. "You said you'd explain?" she pleaded, her eyes dry and her head pounding.

"Tomorrow," he told her, looking at the sprawled, sleeping children with a frown. "Elf," he said, and Opy was abruptly alert in the corner. "Help me get them to bed.

"_Nil disperandum_," he said to the bookcase opposite the hearth, and part of it disappeared to reveal a staircase—despite the fact that the wall should, from the looks of things, open into the street. Hermione was too tired to be impressed.

"But sir," she objected, stumbling forward. Mr. Snape lay a steadying hand on her shoulder, and she leaned into it.

"Tomorrow," he repeated.

Hermione wanted to argue, but the stress of the night caught up to her and her eyes slid closed. "Sir," she tried to say, but it came out unintelligible. Suddenly her face was pressed against the fabric of his robes, and arms encircled her as her legs gave way.

"Tomorrow," Mr. Snape whispered, and she succumbed to sleep.

* * *

When Hermione woke, she was surprised to find herself in what seemed to be her own bed. Yet her bed was in a small, unfamiliar room, stuffed full with nine other beds, trunks, and a small cot. She was alone.

Hermione carefully navigated between the beds to the plain, wooden door, taking care as she walked on the little available floor space not to stub her toe, using the light coming in through the small window to see. On the other side of the door there was a staircase cast in shadow, and she remembered the staircase behind the bookcase, last night. Is that where she was now?

It seemed so, as when she brushed a hand across the panel at the bottom of the stairs it disappeared to reveal the sitting room they'd all portkeyed into, hours ago. But she was still alone. Not even the phoenix was resting on its perch.

Hearing the muffled sound of voices, she followed the sound down the hall and past another staircase until she found a small kitchen. Here, the other orphans and Opy, the house-elf, were gathered. Chatting excitedly and snacking on a meal of jam on toast, they seemed entirely unconcerned that they'd been abruptly uprooted and sent to live only Merlin knows where. A few of the younger children were magicked to their chairs, however, if their sullen expressions and wiggling were anything to go by. The phoenix was perched on the back of another chair, and Janice and Sarah (ages thirteen and ten, respectively) were taking great pleasure in feeding the bird bits of toasted bread.

"Hermione!" Colin Creevey said, with far too much cheer in her opinion. His tone suggests that every sentence ought to be exclaimed. "You must've been tired, we kept trying to wake you but you wouldn't have it! Isn't this exciting?"

"I was just saying that it's exciting!" chimed his younger brother. "I've never stayed anywhere but the orphanage and Hogwarts! Where do you think we are?"

Hermione shrugged wordlessly and grabbed a slice of toast from the stack on the table, shoving it in her mouth to avoid having to answer. They didn't seem to mind; their chatter continued without any input needed. She only half-listened.

"Sirs must speak softer, so's not to wake the master," Opy chided them from where she was assisting the two toddlers in eating, and the boys lowered their voices, but only slightly.

Mr. Snape came to stand in the doorway only minutes later with a blank look of tired incomprehension upon finding his kitchen filled with children. The wizard didn't seem much more rested than last night. Hermione was flustered to see him unshaven and still in his night-robe. He had clearly just woken up, she had never seen him looking so out of sorts.

"Um, good morning, Mr. Snape," she said, and those orphans capable of speech stopped talking to look at him nervously. He just nodded mutely, however, shuffled to a cupboard and removed a mug, then began to heat a pot of water for coffee. Opy tried to assist, but he waved her away.

Gradually, with Mr. Snape leaning against the counter with his eyes closed, the orphans continued talking quietly. Hermione couldn't help but stare, however. Until his eyes snapped open to look at her suspiciously, and she jumped, shaken.

"Er.. Would now be... a better time? For that explanation?" she asked quickly and the man sighed, scowling.

"Probably," he admitted and glared at everyone gathered in the kitchen. "Listen up," he barked, and there was a sudden silence as everyone looked back at him with wide eyes. "Until I can arrange something more suitable, my house is now your home. You may not leave, for any reason. Should someone come by, you are to immediately return to your room behind the bookcase."

He grimaced.

"I'll see what can be done to enlarge the room to a more suitable size... To enter, the password is '_nil disperandum.' _Don't forget it. Now, for the _why_..."

Mr. Snape looked each of them in the eye with a stern, frightfully serious expression.

"As of later today, it will be _illegal_ to have two muggles for parents. The Ministry, in its ultimate wisdom_,_" he sneered, "Has created something called the Mudblood Registration Commission, and its sole purpose is to try and convict witches and wizards without magical relatives. Women, children, they don't care. All will be sent to Azkaban after a mockery of a trial with the most absurd of justifications. Had I and my... colleagues, not known and taken you from the orphanage, I can guarantee that within days you would be languishing in prison."

Terrence, aged seven, and Cheryl, five, looked confused. Everyone else, however, wore an expression of horror. The news was almost a physical blow. Sarah even began to cry.

"But I'm not a mudblood!" Janice whimpered, and Mr. Snape looked at the girl with a grimace.

"Nonetheless, we could not have left you. The aurors would have questioned you about the location of the other orphans, and ignorant or not... well, it's far better that you're here."

"We can't go back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, dazed. "We... have to stay hidden. Indefinitely?" She looked at Mr. Snape fearfully. "We can't leave. What kind of life is that, sir?"

"A kind not so different than any witch's in Britain, Miss Granger," he said with dark humour, "Your cage is just a bit smaller." But she was not at all amused, and he sighed. "I promise that we're doing our best to find a more satisfactory arrangement. Until then, I beg for your patience."

"And who is 'we?'" she questioned forcefully, in no mood to be patronized. "How did you know about the Registration Commission, or that we'd be taken? What other arrangement could possibly keep us safe? What does Mr. Potter have to do with this? Or Neville? I heard his name yesterday!"

Her fervor was making the other orphans anxious, and Mr. Snape led her quickly into the hall by the shoulder.

"None of that is your concern," he hissed angrily. "It's best for all involved that you know as little as possible. And I would ask that you not make your stay here any more unpleasant than necessary by encouraging the other children to question."

"I'm not a child!" she hissed in return, pulling from his grip. "There's nothing but my faith in you that keeps me here, sir, and I'd ask that _you_ respect me enough in return to at least explain what is bloody _going on_! I deserve to have a say in what's happening to me!"

Their eyes were locked in matching glares. Mr. Snape searched her face carefully for a moment before looking away and leaning against the nearby wall with another heavy sigh.

"You're seventeen, is that correct?" he asked wearily, and she nodded, thrown by his quick surrender.

"Yes, sir. Eighteen in September."

"Perhaps you have a point," he allowed, and scowled when she grinned triumphantly. "But I refuse to tell you more unless you answer a few questions to my satisfaction. You will receive no special treatment."

"All right..." she said and Mr. Snape smiled thinly without humour.

"Well then, Miss Granger. How dedicated are you to seeing the Ministry fall?"


	12. Step 12

**Step 12**

* * *

Two days later Hermione stood in the entry hall with Mr. Snape, preparing to leave the house while the other orphans looked on with envy. Though she reassured them that the venture wouldn't be at all pleasant. "Just a bunch of stuffy adults talking about boring, adult things," she told them, and they were for the most part appeased.

"Keep hold of my arm," Mr. Snape told her stiffly and offered his elbow before tapping each of their heads with his wand to cast disillusionment charms. It felt like a rush of cold water running down the length of her, and she shivered. The children 'oohed' and 'ahed' as the two seemed to disappear.

"Don't do anything foolish," Mr. Snape's voice said to them sternly from right beside her. Hermione could see nothing of him but an odd shimmer out of the corner of her eye, but she could feel his robed arm beneath her hand. It was an odd experience.

The front door opened and a tug from his arm led them forward and out of the town-house. The door shut and warded behind and Hermione took a deep breath, happy to be outside for the first time since she left the orphanage.

It was a beautiful summer evening, and as they walked silently along the streets of Hogsmeade she fancied that they were simply on a pleasant stroll. It was almost too easy to forget that, should she look to the side her companion would be invisible, and that, should she drop the charm she could soon be arrested.

Far sooner than she liked, they were pausing before another row of town-houses just over a mile away. Mr. Snape must have leaned over to whisper in her ear, because she felt his breath against her cheek.

"The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at Thirty-Two Derwent Street," he murmured quietly, and her momentary distraction with his proximity was derailed when, out of thin air, a previously non-existent town-house shoved its way between numbers thirty-one and thirty-three.

"That's quite the trick," she whispered, awe-struck, and allowed him to guide her up the steps and through the front door to the entry hall, where he removed the disillusionment charms and stepped away. "How did you manage that?"

"A fidelius charm," he said simply, and his tone discouraged further questions though she had many. Hermione followed him through the sparsely furnished house to an enlarged dining room. An extremely long table was in the centre of the room, surrounded by too many chairs to count at first glance. Mr. Snape took a seat at the head. After a bit of nervous deliberation, Hermione sat herself beside him.

"We're just waiting for the others, then?" she asked.

"Indeed."

Hermione studied him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye; he was scowling at nothing in particular, unmoving.

"Sir... are you angry with me?" she asked quietly and he turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What would make you think that I am?"

She shrugged and looked down to fiddle with the frayed hem of her sleeve.

"You've just seemed a bit... short, lately. I thought perhaps it was something I'd done," she admitted, embarrassed. Mr. Snape sighed heavily.

"Nonsense. I'm merely preoccupied," he told her impatiently. "Staging a revolution isn't easy work. At times I think it would be far easier to herd kneazles."

Hermione gasped, and Mr. Snape looked at her narrowly.

"Crookshanks!" she explained, worried, "What happened to him?"

"He's around here somewhere, I'm sure," he said, waving a hand vaguely. "Along with Figg's clutter."

"Oh." She relaxed significantly. That was a relief. Hermione wondered if there was time to search the house and find him before the meeting started...

However, her ambitions to wander were delayed when others began to arrive. Starting with Mr. Snape's phoenix, Fawkes, who entered the room in a theatrical burst of flame to perch on the back of Mr. Snape's chair. The wizard brushed ash from his shoulder, scowling at the bird with convincing annoyance. She was certain he was fond of the creature, nonetheless.

Next was a middle-aged couple, both of them with red hair. The balding wizard took a seat a little further down the table with a nod, but the heavy-set witch continued to stand and looked directly at Hermione with a frown.

"Is this one of the orphans, Severus?" she asked disapprovingly, and Hermione frowned in return. Couldn't the witch have asked _her_ instead of talking over her as if she didn't understand English?

"She is," Mr. Snape replied, and the way he said it implied that there was nothing more to discuss. The witch huffed and pressed on, anyway.

"Wouldn't you say that she's a bit _young_?" she said. "You've said yourself how dangerous it is, what we're doing. I don't think it's right to involve a girl-"

"I'm afraid your opinion on that issue is irrelevant, Molly," Mr. Snape interrupted tightly. "Miss Granger is above the age of consent, and is therefore capable of making such a decision herself. Just as you did. As everyone did. What we discuss here concerns her greatly, and it would be demeaning to expect her to remain ignorant, meanwhile directing her life as though she were still a child. In addition... I believe her insight will be beneficial. She is a bright young witch, and will make a valuable addition to the Order."

The witch's face was pinched with a barely suppressed urge to argue, but she only gave Hermione another glance before leaving the room hastily with a muttered, "I'll just make tea." Her husband followed soon after, giving Mr. Snape his apologies.

For a few moments Hermione and Mr. Snape were alone again, and Hermione mutely plucked at her sleeve with a flushed face. The wizard's defence of her and positive description, had left her with a warm glow of pride. She was afraid if she so much as looked at him she would let loose a foolish gush of thanks accompanied by a silly grin. It was not the sort of image she wanted to present. She was _not_ a child anymore... even if the entire situation made her feel like one. Soon to be surrounded by established adults discussing serious issues and making real change... it was daunting.

Within minutes they were joined by more witches and wizards. They were coming in larger groups now so it must be closer to the start of the meeting. Upon arriving they greeted Mr. Snape quietly and took a seat, talking among each other. Many of them were about Mr. Snape's age or slightly older, a few much older or slightly younger. She was by far the youngest there. Some looked at her curiously, but none commented like that first witch did.

Hermione didn't recognize anyone until Mr. and Mrs. Potter arrived. After they greeted some of the other members, they approached and took a seat across from her, and she couldn't help but smile.

"Hello!" she said happily, and Harry's parents regarded her fondly.

"It's lovely to see you, Hermione," Mrs. Potter said, before looking at Mr. Snape with raised eyebrows. "Although I must admit it's a surprise."

"Not the first surprise, however," Mr. Potter said, "I thought we might be seeing you at our home."

"Oh..." Hermione remembered with embarrassment her panicked plea to stay with Mr. Snape that night when they were moved from the orphanage. Were they disappointed? What could she say?

But Mr. Potter just laughed.

"Not a problem. Harry's still been enjoying the extra company. He's getting along well with Justin, at least."

"Can I write to him?" Hermione asked eagerly, relieved that they wouldn't press her for the reasons behind the change in plans.

"More importantly," Mr. Snape interrupted, sounding impatient, "Has the Ministry paid you a visit since the law was enacted?"

The Potters exchanged a sad, tired glance, and took hold of each other's hands in a display of support. Mrs. Potter looked especially distraught.

"They have," Mr. Potter said stiffly. "But Lily and the children were able to get into the hidden room before they forced their way in to search for her. Funny thing, they didn't seem inclined to believe me when I said she'd disappeared days earlier." He smiled, but it's clearly strained. "I acted the part of the confused and abandoned husband well enough in the end, I suppose, since I'm here now."

"The enchantments were successful, then," Mr. Snape confirmed, and the wizard nodded.

"They didn't find a thing."

"What _are_ those enchantments?" Hermione asked curiously. "It's really very impressive what you did with the space behind the bookcase."

Mr. Potter grinned proudly. His grim demeanour fell away easily with the change in topic.

"It's a tricky bit of transfiguration and charms, really," he told her, "I've a dab hand with transfigurations, myself, it's my job after all. But I couldn't have figured out the undetectable extension charm without Lily, here."

The husband and wife exchanged a sappy look and quick kiss, and Mr. Snape made a choked sound of disgust. Hermione was hard pressed not to follow suit. She thought couples were less public with their affection as they aged. Apparently she was wrong.

As more and more people arrive, the chairs filled, and some had to stand leaning against the wall. When it seemed that everyone was there, Mr. Snape stood from his chair and the room fell silent.

"Welcome to the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, held on the evening of Sunday, June 29th in the year 1997," he began. His voice was soft, but confident. He needed not speak louder to be heard. "Before anything else, I would like to thank those of you who volunteered your homes to shelter the orphans and others that are currently pursued by the Ministry. I am pleased to say that Arabella Figg was of great help in the matter, and even provided a list of former charges, many of whom we were able to contact in time to help hide."

He paused and seemed to search the room for a moment. When he didn't find whatever he was looking for, he frowned and continued.

"The amount of outrage expressed by the Ministry at our success, as evidenced in the _Daily Prophet_, is indeed gratifying." There was a spontaneous burst of applause from a few of the members, and Mr. Snape allowed it to continue with a smirk, raising his voice as a consequence. "Thank you, to Benjy Fenwick, employee at the Department of Magical Transportation, for providing the portkeys required. Thank you to James Potter, for casting the spells to create the hidden enclosures in which the witches and wizards can hide." There were a few whistles, and Mr. Potter grinned. "And a great deal of thanks are owed to Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, who at our last meeting was able to warn us of the Ministry's plans."

At once, everyone turned to look nervously at a solemn-looking wizard with a shaved head, leaning against the wall, indeed wearing auror robes. Hermione was a bit shocked to see him there. The applause faltered but still continued as people expressed their thanks.

"I understand that Auror Shacklebolt had little opportunity to introduce himself at the last meeting, as things understandably... fell into a bit of chaos once his news sunk in," Mr. Snape said, and then continued sternly. "However, I trust you will all do your best to make him feel welcome after the meeting." He paused.

"And so, we celebrate our greatest success in our campaign against the Ministry of Magic to date. Yet at the same time, we must acknowledge those whom we've failed. Given the constraints of time and resources, it was impossible to protect every witch and wizard born to muggles in Britain. I'm certain, and Shacklebolt has confirmed it, that there are hundreds of people now in Azkaban or on their way, having committed no crime but of being born.

"Such injustices are precisely what this organisation was created to prevent, and I am disheartened that we couldn't do more. We have a long and difficult road ahead of us, and this is but one battle of many."

The atmosphere of the room was noticeably dampened as its occupants frowned into their teacups (provided by the red-headed witch who'd so objected to Hermione's presence earlier). They looked only mildly cheered when Mr. Snape said,

"I have no doubt each of you are up to the challenge."

He continued after a short pause,

"In light of my heightened expectations and Auror Shacklebolt's available expertise, I have created a new, more intense schedule for training sessions, which can be found posted upstairs. I ask that you attend or reschedule whenever possible. Remember that your dedication to these sessions could one day save your life and the lives of others.

"And finally... a _pleasant_ announcement," Mr. Snape said to his silent audience with a wry twitch of the lips, "Miss Hermione Granger has indicated a desire to join the Order, and has passed the initial screening." He waved a hand towards her, and Hermione struggled not to look down or fidget as every eye in the room turned to stare. She _would_ be mature and composed.

"If there are no objections..." Mr. Snape said with a raised eyebrow, almost daring anyone to try. There were no objections, although the red-headed witch—Molly, didn't he say?-looked like she would given any provocation. "Excellent. As always, you are invited to attend the induction at the end of this meeting.

"Now..." he took a seat then, and looked out among the dozens of witches and wizards who were taking in each word respectfully. "Are there any subjects that you would you like to address at tonight's meeting?"

Mr. Snape waited, and for a few moments no one spoke. Until Auror Shacklebolt shifted a bit on his feet, drawing his attention.

"Shacklebolt?" Mr. Snape prompted, and the wizard reluctantly spoke up.

"Yes..." the auror said quietly. His voice was deep and faintly accented. "Yaxley and the minister are more than a bit angry that so many mudbloods have simply 'disappeared,' the orphans in particular. The Ministry won't just forget and move on. I can guarantee that when they don't turn up soon, I'll be receiving orders to search every house in Wizarding Britain until we find them."

"And your concern is that our enchantments will fail?" Mr. Snape asked, frowning.

"My concern is that they can't stay holed up in those little rooms forever. When we show up suddenly, without warning, who's to say that they will all find their way to the hidden room? And I don't hold a lot of confidence in anyone's ability to withstand a bit a of torture..."

"Torture?" one witch squeaked.

"My colleagues might call it 'questioning,'" Auror Shacklebolt said grimly. The room began to fill with panicked whispers

"Enough," Mr. Snape snarled. At his word, there was again silence. "Your concerns are valid," he said, frowning. "However I have few ways to alleviate them. Is there any way you that can know whose homes will be searched, before-hand, and send warning?"

The wizard shrugged.

"It's possible that I could know, yes, but I don't see a subtle way of sending off an owl before each raid," he said quietly.

"I see." Mr. Snape frowned. There were a few moments of quiet as everyone contemplated the situation.

"Sir," Hermione whispered from beside him, and the wizard looked at her impatiently.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked, and Hermione tried not to wilt as everyone else turned to look at her, too.

"I-that is, there's a method, other than an owl, to contact someone..." she started.

"If you're going to enlighten me about the wonders of the floo network, believe me, it-"

"Just listen!" she said, annoyed, and hastily apologized upon seeing his scowl. "Sorry, I mean, please, sir. I've thought of a way to send messages using a protean charm on fake coins." Hermione removed a galleon from her pocket to show him, and he took it with a thoughtful frown. "I made them for Harry and me, so we could contact each other in case... well. I'm sure you could make enough for everyone. You can send a short message to the matched coins, and it'll warm to tell you they've all changed. Would... I mean, maybe Auror Shacklebolt could use something similar?"

Mr. Snape gave her a pleased smirk.

"Indeed, that seems most useful. Well done," he told her respectfully, and Hermione couldn't help but grin inanely. "Is this solution to your satisfaction, Kingsley?" The auror nodded, and there was a slight pause.

"Then Miss Granger can clarify how they are made and I will distribute the coins as needed. Further concerns or reports?" Mr. Snape asked. "Arthur?"

Hermione's attention shifted to the red-headed wizard currently raising his hand; presumably Molly's husband.

"The minister still has us working with the Department of Magical Transportation to find a way to either remove or get past the anti-apparition barrier and the wards preventing portkeying outside the Wall," he said. "But without Dumbledore's magical signature I think we've reached a standstill. No one can figure out how he managed it, to be frank."

"Do you yet have any idea what Riddle intends to do upon reaching Muggle Britain?" Mr. Snape asked, and Arthur shook his head in the negative while Hermione barely withheld a startled gasp at hearing the name Riddle. "At least we know that he doesn't have the Quill," he said sourly. "If Dumbledore ever did anything right, it was taking the Quill with him when he fled..."

There was some muttered agreement. Hermione would be intrigued, except she was much more confused about something else...

"I'm sorry," Hermione interrupted quietly, "But did you say Riddle? As in Tom Riddle?"

"I did," Mr. Snape told her shortly, "Voldemort is a name he's been using for years. Clearly he did not die as we'd thought."

"But," she said, "I'm very certain that Mr. Grindelwald _killed_ Tom Riddle. He told me so himself!"

"Under what possible circumstances would Gellert Grindelwald confide in you about his murderous exploits?" Mr. Snape asked, aghast. Hermione sunk into her seat guiltily, and noted with embarrassment that everyone else looked just as shocked.

"Er... we met for lunch frequently, when I was in fourth and fifth year. He... mentioned it," she said quietly, but insistent. Hermione knew that she was right, Mr. Grindelwald wouldn't have lied. He hated deception. And why would he lie about killing someone, anyway?

"And I only hear about these meetings _now_?" Mr. Snape barked furiously. Hermione glared back defiantly.

"Yes! Because I knew you would be unreasonable about it!" she said.

"Excuse me," Arthur interrupted gently, "But perhaps we should be focusing on the fact that a wizard who is known to have died is now alive?"

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"I don't suppose anyone knows any sort of magic that can resurrect the dead? That results in something greater than an inferius?" he asked, and there was a general shifting and looking about as everyone shook their heads.

"Maybe it's not really him, just someone trying to take advantage of the infamy that accompanies the name," Mr. Potter suggested.

"Doubtful," Mr. Snape said stiffly. Hermione was sure that he avoided looking at her deliberately, and was startled by how much that bothered her. "Voldemort was not a name known outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement until he became minister. I don't see the point in using it, unless he really were Tom Riddle. Are there any other suggestions?"

There were not.

Suddenly the front door could be heard opening and shutting, and muffled voices approached the room. Everyone stilled and looked at the doorway suspiciously. When Mrs. Figg lowered her hood to reveal herself, those who recognized her began to relax.

Until, behind her, the former Minister for Magic, Albus Dumbledore, stepped into view.

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

People stood, their chairs clattering to the floor, they shouted, they waved their wands threateningly. At the receiving end of it all was a bewildered Figg and a frustratingly serene Dumbledore.

How _dare_ she bring him here? He felt the same outrage as his fellow Order members, but even so the chaos began to wear on his nerves. After a quick _sonorus_ charm Severus stood and snarled,

"Silence!"

Shockingly, it worked. Everyone stopped shouting, though they still eyed the former minister threateningly. Severus quickly disarmed the old wizard with a silent _expelliarmus_ and Dumbledore made no move to stop him. He caught the wand deftly and stowed it up his sleeve.

"Everyone sit down, _now,_" he snapped, the charm still in effect. They reluctantly complied, though Figg and Dumbledore remained standing in the doorway. He canceled the charm.

"Figg, explain," he sneered, and the squib acted far too innocent not to know how royally she had screwed up.

"I told you I knew of someone who'd want to help," she said. "You gave me the note with the address and said I could bring him."

"Only because you neglected to tell me that it was Albus _Dumbledore_," he hissed angrily, but Figg seemed unmoved. The old bastard said nothing, content to watch them argue, it seemed.

"I don't see how that would change things. Albus has been the orphans' greatest ally since the start," she defended. "He's continued to offer his own money to keep the children cared for, even from his exile, and he'd like to see the current Ministry fall as much as any of us."

"Only because the current Ministry deposed him, I'm sure," he muttered, and then louder, "And the fact that we're all in this situation because of him? We want to make things right, not return them to the way they were when he was minister."

There was some whispered agreement from around the room.

"I believe you'll find that our goals line-up quite nicely," Dumbledore defended mildly, and Severus scoffed.

"Unlikely." He raised his wand again—to stun, obliviate, or silence the git, he was not quite sure.

But a loud cry prompted him and everyone else to stare at Fawkes as the phoenix flew across the room to land on Dumbledore's shoulder. The wizard winced, and Severus sneered without sympathy. Meanwhile, the over-grown pigeon sang soothingly.

_Traitor._ Fawkes just ruffled his feathers, unconcerned, allowing the former minister to stroke them down.

"Ah, I do believe we've met before," Dumbledore said quietly. "Fawkes?" The bird trilled. "I once hoped... but alas, it seems you've found a home."

"Touching," Severus snarled, his anger overriding any curiosity. "However, I'm no more inclined to-"

"Severus," Lily interrupted chidingly, "Give him a chance."

Wonderful. He took a deep breath. Just the person who should be instructing him on _forgiveness_ and _second chances_. The phoenix song was clearly still potent, except this time it was not working in his favour.

"Speak," he demanded, and the old wizard looked somewhat indignant at the demand. It was a minor triumph.

"I acknowledge that I've made mistakes. None of us are perfect," Dumbledore said stiffly. "I've come to realize that... many of the things I once thought are wrong. I have no intention of taking any position of authority again. I only desire to help stop Tom in his madness."

The two wizards locked eyes heatedly. Severus attempted to skim the older wizard's mind with legilimency, but found the way completely blocked. In return he felt a brush against his own mind and he looked away with a snarl.

"Any objections?" Severus asked the Order members. Of course, they were all still feeling rather accepting after their serenade a moment ago. There were none.

"Sit down, then," he said bitterly. "Just know that you'll have to take the same vow as everyone else."

Fawkes alighted from the wizard's shoulder and returned to his perch on Severus's chair with a happy chirp while Dumbledore conjured a seat in an empty corner. Severus took a seat as well, purposely neglecting to return the man's wand.

"Before we were... interrupted," he said, "I believe we were discussing the seeming impossibility of Tom Riddle being alive."

"Oh, it's quite possible," Dumbledore said from the corner serenely, and made no move to elaborate. Severus closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

"Really?" he grit out. "Because I've been told by Miss Granger, here, that your good _friend_, Gellert Grindelwald, most assuredly killed him."

"Miss Granger?" the old wizard said, looking mildly surprised, and seemed to just notice the young witch in question. The girl gave a small, hesitant wave. "Oh, so it is. I'm delighted to see you again, my dear."

Granger appeared to try smiling politely, but it came out more like a grimace. That girl had a lot of questions to answer.

"In any case, she's correct," the former minster said. "Gellert did mortally injure Tom in self-defence. He was very dead."

Again, he gave no indication of being inclined to elaborate.

"_Was_, you say." Severus heroically held back from cursing the wizard, but barely. He was sure his expression was very fierce. "And yet no longer _is_? Would you care to explain how that's possible?"

"Are you sure that everyone needs to know the answer to that?" Dumbledore asked, and in a way that struck Severus as deliberately condescending. "It's very dark magic, after all, and it seems to me that knowledge of such a dangerous nature ought not to be distributed lightly."

"If you want to become part of the Order, _sir_," Severus hissed angrily, "You had best explain what you know. In _detail_. You are no longer running the country, and none of us owe any loyalty to you. On the contrary, I believe most of us resent your presence here greatly. I trust everyone here with whatever knowledge you hold far more than I do _you_, and I'm not going to keep those that depend on me in the dark as to what we're all facing. Tell. Us. _Now._"

Although Severus was almost entirely focused on the former minister, he was aware that the others shifted and gave each other wary glances in the face of his anger. He didn't care.

The old wizard huffed and made a show of being reluctant, but nevertheless deigned to speak.

"A horcrux," Dumbledore said with poor temper, no longer quite so serene. "An otherwise ordinary object that becomes a very dark artefact. It houses a fraction of a soul, so that, should its creator die, he might be resurrected and live on. At the least, to create one, Tom would have had to commit murder to split his soul. I'm not sure of the entire process. Quite honestly, I don't want to know."

"And so Riddle made one of these... horcruxes?" Severus asked, feeling slightly calmer now that the old man was being useful rather than stubborn, although his news was horrifying.

"At least two, I should think," the wizard replied. "Gellert destroyed one, and yet there must have been at least one more for him to be alive, now."

"Just how many could he have created?" Alice Longbottom asked with wariness and disgust. Her feelings were mirrored on the the faces of everyone else present.

"And how would we find the others, if he's made more?" her husband asked perceptively.

"Are they difficult to destroy?" Potter asked.

To all of them, Dumbledore only shrugged.

"I'm afraid I have no idea. Gellert was the expert in the dark arts, not I," he said. And Severus swore the bastard was getting some sort of smug satisfaction at seeing their distress.

"Do you have any suggestion as to how we might find out?" Severus sneered.

"I have more knowledge of the boy than most, I should think," Dumbldore said. "I might be able to anticipate what objects he's used, and where he's hidden them. I'm most certain that they're hidden. Tom wouldn't leave them lying around for just anyone to find."

"Brilliant," Severus muttered, and rubbed the bridge of his significant nose in frustration. Surely that pain was the beginnings of a migraine. "Bloody brilliant. Let me make this absolutely clear. I _refuse_ to go on some wild goose chase for an unknown number of items, of unknown description, in unknown locations. That's pure lunacy. We will approach this with reason and intelligence. We will research the problem, and if there is no solution, we will create one."

"Hear, hear," a wizard muttered from some length down the table.

"Excuse me, sir..." a female voice spoke, and Severus looked to his side. Of course it was Granger again. "But why are these horcruxes a concern?"

He simply raised an eyebrow, and the girl's expression of innocent confusion soon cracked. Shock and terror spread over her face as realization dawned.

"We're not... planning to kill the minister?" she asked desperately, looking around at the stoic Order members. Some of them couldn't bring themselves to meet her eyes. "Are we?"

Severus wondered briefly if he really should have brought her here. It seemed she was not as adapted to the reality of the situation as he'd thought. Perhaps Molly was right to question.

"And how did you expect us to overthrow the Ministry if not take down its leader?" he asked disdainfully. "Our goals cannot be accomplished through legal means. Furthermore, the wizard himself isn't worth your concern. He's a bigot and a murderer. A despot who would just as easily order you tortured as breathe."

"Well, yes, but-"

"There is no _but_. These are serious circumstances, Miss Granger. Difficult and unpleasant decisions must be made. If you are unable to face the reality of the situation, I suggest that this be the last meeting you attend."

Granger's face scrunched in hurt and anger. Others regarded him with mild disapproval for his harshness, but none spoke up to disagree.

"Forgive me if I expected you to give some consideration to morals, sir," she said. And before he could recite his speech on _morality..._ "I only thought that we might look for humane alternatives. Imprisonment, for example, seems fairly standard, and doesn't require _murder_."

"And is life in Azkaban really that much more humane? Sentenced to die only after years of empty, tormented existence? We could debate endlessly about justice and morality. But at the moment, I am more concerned with practicalities. Facing a force that far outstrips ours in power and resources, somehow emerging the victor, and then putting in place a government that will not oppress or harm its citizens. This is of far more importance to me than the life of a cruel tyrant."

She nodded morosely, and Severus felt mildly guilty for discouraging her concern. He may have acted too defensively. It was not an ideal situation.

"In any case... these horcruxes must be destroyed no matter Riddle's ultimate fate," he told her. "It wouldn't do at all to have him die, even of natural causes, and then some day down the line face him resurrected, again and again."

She said nothing, and he decided it was best that the subject be changed.

He could see that the general atmosphere of the meeting had deteriorated significantly since the beginning when everyone was so thrilled at their success with the orphans. Severus grimaced. He was perhaps not the best at boosting morale. Upon reflection, he wasn't the best at treating everyone's opinions with respect, either. He certainly wasn't kind to Miss Granger. It was just so difficult when she addressed him with that simpering, solicitous tone of voice. It made him forget that she was an adult now, and not the scrawny little girl that first came into his apothecary, years ago... at least until he snapped at her. And then suddenly she grew a spine and was willing to argue. He could respect that. However, fierce arguments weren't, perhaps, the best means of communicating and solving problems.

Blast, but this leadership thing wasn't _his_ idea. He'd much rather be sulking in the background, making snide remarks about someone _else's _piss-poor leadership skills. And there was Dumbledore just _twinkling_ in the corner. Bastard.

"Well..." he said awkwardly to the silent room. "It seems we have _four_ new members to induct into the Order, today. What _luck_. Unless there's anything else? ...Thus concludes tonight's meeting. If you would care to join me in the other room..."

He stood, and everyone else followed suit. Molly offered to refill cups as, en masse, the Order members filtered into the adjoining area, furnished sparsely with couches and armchairs. The centre of the room was empty but for a rug, and it was here that Severus stood, Potter beside him.

"Kingsley?" The wizard stepped forward and joined him. Seveus offered his hand, and Kingsley took it. Potter raised his wand, and Severus prepared himself to bind another man to his cause.

Piss-poor leadership skills or no, it was up to _him_ to ensure that this vow, deadly in consequence, wasn't taken in vain... No small task.


	13. Step 13

**Step 13**

* * *

Hermione stood awkwardly in the corner of the room after she, Auror Shacklebolt, Mrs. Figg, and Albus Dumbledore had completed their vows for their induction into the Order. Those who remained mingled in small groups, quietly discussing who-knows-what. Adult things and Order business, she supposed. Mr. and Mrs. Potter had been very friendly but they had left as soon as they could ("work in the morning and kids at home," Mr. Potter had said with a friendly wink as they bade her good night.) No one else had attempted to make her feel welcome beyond a nod and short introduction. They hadn't been even that kind to Mr. Dumbledore, but he at least had an ally in Mrs. Figg.

She didn't blame them, Hermione knew she didn't fit in. She never had. Somehow she thought she might be more comfortable with mature, older witches and wizards than with her childish peers. Instead she felt childish herself. A novelty.

Remembering that Crookshanks was somewhere in the town-house and grateful to have an excuse to escape, she slipped out of the room. He was not on the first floor, so she climbed the stairs and peeked into what must have at one point been the master bedroom. It had been transformed into a training centre with padded walls and floors and a dueling platform on one side. A grim-looking Auror Shacklebolt stood at one end exchanging a dizzying array of rapid-fire spells with another wizard who was looking rather outmatched but exhilarated.

Seeing immediately that her cat was not inside, Hermione quickly moved on before they could notice her gaping. She tentatively opened the next door only to find a restroom. The next one, an office or small library, proved a success. She found Crookshanks napping on the arm of a chair by the fire.

Unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore was sitting is said chair giving her familiar a good rub behind the ears.

Hermione wondered if it was too late to shut the door and back away slowly before he noticed her. But before she could take another step…

His eyes shifted to meet hers, and they were weary and sorrowful.

"Miss Granger," the old wizard greeted her with a sad attempt at a smile. "A pleasant surprise. Won't you join me?"

Feeling unable to refuse, she reluctantly came closer and sat herself in the armchair opposite his. For several moments there was expectant silence. Was she supposed to say something? What could she possibly say? Or talk about? Their only common point of interest was-

"Gellert was very fond of you, you know," Mr. Dumbledore told her gently. "I expect he didn't say it in the usual way. But you're all he could talk about for hours after one of your luncheons."

"Oh," Hermione said intelligently, sitting stunned. Mr. Grindelwald had only ever indicated that she might be _useful_, fondness was never considered. Although in retrospect she did have her own fondness for some of their remembered discussions. He was a brilliant man.

"You and Tom… Gellert and I were never destined to have children unfortunately. But then I had all the orphans, and he had the two of you. When Tom proved such a disappointment, and in the end, anguish... you were his hope."

She shifted uncomfortably at this revelation and decided it would be best if she said nothing. Let him voice his sorrows. He looked into the fire, and she was reminded of his appearance at Mr. Grindelwald's funeral. In mourning, that's how he looked.

"If only… I have such regrets. A century of regrets. My fear and stubborn pride, my willful ignorance has cost so many so much. Do you ever wonder what will happen to our souls after we die, Miss Granger?"

Hermione slowly shook her head.

"Some muggles believe that we will face judgment for all our lives' sins. I am afraid that when death takes me, I will not be judged kindly."

She could not think of any response to this morbid statement that wouldn't be trite or false. In life he had already been judged by many and found wanting. He was the figurehead of an isolated and withering Wizarding Britain. He had turned a blind eye to Tom Riddle's sadism and plotting, he was the precursor to everything horrible that had happened.

And yet Hermione pitied him. He seemed so small and weak in that moment, it was difficult to remember that he was a powerful wizard who once had the strength and cunning to be Minister of Magic for so many decades.

"Crookshanks seems to like you," she offered, and then winced. What a stupid thing to say. "I mean, he doesn't like many people. He's a good judge of character I think, and he's letting you pet him."

It was true. And strange, now that she thought about it. But the idea seemed to light a small spark of good humor in Mr. Dumbledore.

"Indeed?" he mused, looking down at the tomcat with a slight smile. "You may be right. I do see a bit of kneazle in him after all. Perhaps I'm overthinking things."

And perhaps not. But Hermione wasn't going to spoil his improved mood.

They sat in slightly less awkward silence for a few minutes before footsteps and the opening door announced the arrival of another. That other turned out to be Severus Snape, who eyed the both of them with extreme suspicion.

"Time to go," he said flatly. Hermione wasn't sure if he was addressing her or Mr. Dumbledore, but she stood in any case.

"Mr. Snape," she began hesitantly, "Might Crookshanks come with us?"

He gave the cat a hard stare for a second before replying,

"It's best that he remain here. He will be taken care of."

And so Hermione quickly lifted her familiar from the armchair and gave him a lingering hug, whispering apologies and promises as the two men traded flinty stares. Setting Crookshanks down reluctantly, she followed Mr. Snape from the room.

"Goodbye, Mr. Dumbledore," she said politely, and the old wizard called out a farewell.

The house was nearly deserted now as they descended the stairs. No one was around to witness as Mr. Snape again cast disillusionment charms over the both of them and they left the Order's headquarters.

Mr. Snape walked quickly down the steps and across the street, and she was forced to keep up with her hand on his arm, stumbling.

"Would you please slow down?" she whispered fretfully. He did so, but only after a long enough pause that she was sure he did it reluctantly.

They walked for a few blocks in silence.

"Mr. Snape," she said quietly. "Do you have many regrets?"

There was a sudden tension in his frame that she interpreted as surprise.

"Elaborate," was all he said.

"I mean, are there many things you wish you hadn't done, things you wish you had? That you feel guilty about?"

For a while he didn't say anything, and Hermione thought he wouldn't answer. And then he said,

"It is best to focus on the present rather than languish in the past. I advise that you let prior mistakes be a lesson in how you can improve your future, nothing more."

It wasn't a yes or no, but somehow she found his response even more telling.

* * *

The novelty of a new environment wore off quickly for the confined children and relentless boredom soon set in. Mr. Snape's home was not unusually small, but for ten young witches and wizards unable to go outside it seemed tiny. They were used to crowding, but they were also used to a larger variety of space and company.

With the help of the older children, Hermione did her best to keep up the little ones entertained with lessons and stories of Hogwarts. Even so, arguments and skirmishes broke out frequently and as the oldest she became the de facto disciplinarian. Fawkes and Opy would not allow things to get too out of hand, however. They were on hand to sing a soothing melody or magically restrain the children if needed.

The chaos would have driven Mr. Snape mad, she was sure, if he were ever around to notice it. But the wizard was forever out, either working to keep his apothecary running or on Order business.

Doubling the stress of the situation was her constant state of fear. Fear that someone would come, would find them and take them away. That they'd take _Mr. Snape_ away and kill him or worse. She kept two coins on hand at all times. With one she could contact Harry, with the other Auror Shacklebolt could warn her of an impending raid. Checking them nervously became a constant habit.

Mr. Snape's well-stocked library was her only solace from the stress and terror. She consumed books with a voracious appetite even greater than before, feeling that if she just learned enough, someday she might know what she'd need to get herself out of trouble, the right fact or spell.

One night she was marveling over the results of a spell she'd just learned. _Homenem revelo_. Useful little thing, it revealed the presence of other people even if they were hidden under a disillusionment charm. She wondered if it could detect Harry under his invisibility cloak too?

The children were giggling and pointing at the pale glow that surrounded each of them as they sat around the living room. It was rather pretty actually. Hermione smiled and Fawkes chirped happily from his perch.

Interesting that Fawkes didn't glow as well. So it was clearly targeted at humans, not just living creatures. How did the spell distinguish between them? What exactly was the spell detecting?

"Souls?" Hermione mused out loud, surprised at her own train of thought but excited as well. "Is this a spell that reveals souls?"

"Like in the stories?" a young voice asked eagerly, and she turned to look at Janice, startled. She didn't know anyone had been listening.

"Pardon?"

"Like in the stories," Janice repeated. "You know, the hero casts a spell to reveal his love's soul, proving that they're destined to be together because a part of her is always with him."

The logic of that statement seemed inconsistent.

"Umm, sure?" Hermione told her skeptically, almost dismissive.

Janice frowned.

"Really! You haven't heard of it before? It's true! I don't remember the words… Hold on!"

And she scurried away, shouting the password to reach the hidden stairs behind the bookcase and disappearing. Hermione shook her head, bemused, and cast a quick _finite incantatem_ to end the spell before returning to her reading. Teenaged girls.

But she was soon interrupted by Janice's return, slightly out of breath and holding out a worn paperback book in triumph. The cover—featuring a buff quidditch player and an unreasonably well-endowed, simpering heroine—was creased and stained and the pages yellow and folded.

"It's in here, I just have to find it!" the girl said firmly, and began to hastily flip from one dog-eared section to another. Hermione waited patiently, more out of good humor than any belief that such a useful spell might be found in the lines of a rubbish novel.

"Here."

The open book was thrust into her face, one of Janice's fingers pointing to a particular passage. Hermione obliged in skimming though the lurid prose, amused at the clichéd scene and over-dramatic dialogue, until she came upon the magic words the story's protagonist insisted on shouting.

_Animus revelo_.

Huh. Her eyebrows furrowed in thought. The incantation _was_ remarkably similar to the spell she had just used. Was it a coincidence? Was there any harm in attempting to find out? They wouldn't print a dangerous spell in such a context, would they? Especially knowing that so many lovelorn young girls would try to cast it?

Deciding to use the same wand movements as with _homenem revelo_ (they ought to be the same, in theory), Hermione raised her wand. She lifted her eyebrows as if to ask "may I?" and Janice nodded her assent.

"_Animus revelo_!" She said strongly, twisting and flicking the wrist.

It worked immediately. Janice's form began to emanate a glorious shimmer of light, colors shifting and spiking. They both gasped, and the other children turned to watch with an impressed "_ooh._"

"Are you reading her aura?" Colin asked, and Hermione had to tear her gaze away from the dazzling spectacle of Janice's (presumably) soul to say,

"What?"

"That's the spell we used in divination to read each others' auras!" the boy exclaimed, and Hermione for once questioned her decision to stop taking the subject. It had always seemed a bit wooly to her, but maybe it had its uses.

Colin squinted in Janice's direction.

"I see… inspired? Or is that determined… mixed with pride and misery? No, I don't think that's right. What do you think, Hermione?"

She could only shrug. It was just a beautiful mass of colors to her.

Who would have thought that Janice and Colin would know such a potentially useful spell while she knew nothing of it even with all her reading? But then, unless you had horcruxes on the mind it might not be seem that useful after all.

"Me next!" Dennis said excitedly. And so for the next hour Hermione and those others with a wand and the skill to use it alternated casting the spell on each other for entertainment. Colin provided humorous (and probably false) readings and commentary until it was time to call it a night.

Everyone went to bed in higher spirits than they had been in a while, chatting happily about their auras and what they meant.

Hermione, however, stayed downstairs. She was eager to share the spell with Mr. Snape. If it truly revealed a person's soul, could it not also reveal a soul fragment? It may solve one small part of the horcrux dilemma, at least: how to recognize one once they found it.

So she kept herself busy reading the same few pages over and over again, scarcely comprehending a word. Was this spell really worthwhile? Would Mr. Snape appreciate her efforts? What if he already knew about it? He probably did, he knew so much. If it was useful he would know it. She worked herself into an increasingly nervous state. It seemed pointless to show him, then.

But she continued to sit in the living room, just in case.

Hours later, Mr. Snape entered his home with minimal noise. He went straight to the kitchen to rummage around in the cupboards. Hermione held her breath.

Minutes later he emerged into the living room with a tin of biscuits, only to halt abruptly in the doorway upon finding her still awake.

"Miss Granger?" the man prompted with a raised eyebrow.

"Hello," Hermione greeted him with a nervous smile. "Lovely to see you. I mean, I've been waiting…" she trailed off.

"Yes, that much is obvious," Mr. Snape drawled. "Less clear is the _why_."

"Er, you see, there's this spell I found—well, I didn't really find it. I found another one, but then Janice mentioned this one and it seems legitimate, or at least it has a rather curious effect which I think might be useful. But then I'm sure you've already heard of it-"

"Your _point _please, Miss Granger," the wizard grumbled, collapsing into an armchair with a weary sigh. "Before the sun rises."

She snapped to attention, sitting tall.

"_Animus revelo_ is a spell that appears to make visual the soul present in its target through use of a colorful, lit aura," Hermione told him primly, "I believe it may be useful in identifying horcruxes."

Mr. Snape frowned, his brows furrowed in contemplation.

"Such a spell might prove useful indeed… I was not aware of it," he admitted, and Hermione felt a rush of satisfied triumph. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

Well practiced by now, Hermione was happy to lift her wand and cast with a careful twist and flick. A beautiful swirl of color began to surround the wizard, a mix of deep red, orange-yellow and dark blue. A faint muddled gray overlay it all.

They both observed the effect with interest, Mr. Snape witnessing it for the first time and Hermione noting the differences between his and the others'.

"Intriguing," he said. "Where did you say you came across it? I have read every book in this house and I know it is not present in any of them."

She hesitated.

"Well, Colin knew it because they used it in divination…"

"Ah. I never cared much for the subject."

Hermione felt less guilty then for dismissing it so readily. But she didn't actually learn it from Colin...

Reluctant, she nevertheless felt the need to be upfront-

"Really, though… Janice showed it to me. It's apparently a popular literary device."

With a heated face, she stood and offered him the paperback open to the relevant page. He skimmed it quickly, his face contorting oddly before he flipped it over to look at the cover and snorted. She avoided looking at him directly.

"Imagine such drivel proving itself valuable," Mr. Snape said, amused. "Regardless. Whatever its source we cannot be sure this spell will do what we need it to do until we're in a position to know for sure. It is a start, but only that."

Hermione nodded, disappointed. She was about to thank him for his time and say good night when a small something caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

She looked. She squinted. It was a framed photograph. And it was glowing. With color.

Eyes darted between the frame and the wizard sitting before her, and there was no doubting that the aura was the same even if the picture's was extremely faint. Rapidly she approached the bookshelf where it sat and lifted the frame to stare at its contents in shock.

It had every appearance of being simply an animated photograph of a young Severus Snape and two older adults who were likely his parents. But it was _glowing_.

"Mr. Snape," she began warily, but said nothing more. Frightened.

Her thoughts ran wild. Could he have made a horcrux? _Would_ he? Why? Or was it something else? Do cameras take a piece of your soul and instill it into the photographs? Does it leave a hole? Does it heal? Would each new photo take another piece, bit by bit as your soul shrunk? What would happen to you as a result?

He stood and approached her slowly, focused on the photo in her hand with slight puzzlement.

"I believe…" Mr. Snape said. "Things are not as dire as you are no doubt thinking. You are aware of the nature of ghosts and portraits, Miss Granger?"

Oh. Suddenly it clicked. She hadn't thought of that. She nodded, relieved.

"Yes. They're not actually the people they represent trapped in canvas or ghostly form, more… imprints?" She struggled to explain a concept that had never been explained to her outright. "Like a handprint in clay, they have the appearance of what created them but are not the genuine article. Shallow, more limited."

"Precisely," Mr. Snape told her, expression smoothing. "We've simply learned a little about the finer methods of photography. Interesting but harmless."

"But," Hermione mused, still thinking about the spell and its potential uses. "If we had a photo of Tom Riddle then… couldn't we cast _animus revelo_ on it? If a horcrux were nearby, wouldn't it glow too? We wouldn't have to know _what_ it is then, only _where_."

He looked startled for a moment before an uncharacteristic grin spread wide across his face.

"Brilliant, Miss Granger. It would have to be a photograph of him alone to keep things from getting muddled, but yes. I do think you're right."

They stood smiling at each other happily for a moment until Mr. Snape came aware of himself and his expression closed abruptly with a frown. He cast a silent _finite_ and the beautiful aura surrounding him disappeared.

"Thank you," he said. The happy moment was over. "I will be sure to teach it to everyone at the next meeting. We still have yet to discover where it or they might be, but in the meantime there is no harm in searching at random when convenient if the method is so simple. It looked as though the wand movements are a simple twist and flick?"

She nodded. He raised his wand to attempt it.

"May I?"

She nodded again. A gesture and the spell was cast. As expected, she began to glow...

…but then so did he.

Her _second_ shock of the night. The same brilliant color that surrounded her matched a faint glow that centered in Mr. Snape's chest. Her soul, her aura in _him_.

_The hero casts a spell to reveal his love's soul, proving that they're destined to be together because a part of her is always with him._

That's what Janice had said.

They stood in overwhelming, flabbergasted silence. What did it mean? That they were _soul-mates_? But she didn't have a bit of _his _soul. Were these things usually one-sided?

"I don't suppose you have a photo of me in your breast pocket?" Hermione whispered shakily.

He ended the spell with a violent flick of his wrist and whirled around dramatically, pinched expression on his face.

"_Good night_, Miss Granger."

And the wizard stormed upstairs toward his bedroom.

Hermione sank into the abandoned armchair and mindlessly reached for the open tin of biscuits, feeling numb.

Well. They were in agreement then.

Best not to discuss it. Ever. Let sleeping dragons lie.


	14. Step 14

**Step 14**

* * *

It was mercifully simple to avoid Granger after the… incident. She was asleep when he woke and upstairs when he returned home to catch a few desperately needed hours of rest. If Severus believed in a higher power he would have offered thanks, for he most emphatically did _not_ want to deal with the issue, or the jumble of emotions it had spawned: primarily confusion, fear, and shame.

He did not want to contemplate what it might mean. His only available data suggested something to do with destiny or love, but he could not see how either of those could be the case. Certainly fate would not be so cruel as to tie him to her without reciprocation, and _love_ was not yet at play. (_Yet._ Hah! Would not be _ever_.)

She was a child! Of age or no, Granger bore far too much resemblance to the scrawny little orphan-girl who first wandered into his shop years ago. Seventeen was still so _young_. Severus scarcely remembered life at that age, though he must have been a fool for that was when he'd decided to become an auror.

_Pah_. It was ridiculous. Something else was the cause, he was sure of it. …He just couldn't guess at what. No matter. He would figure it out eventually.

…In the meantime it seemed best to avoid Granger. Didn't want her getting the wrong sort of idea.

Unfortunately, only a few days after the incident it was time for the next Order meeting that he'd scheduled through their coded owl messages. Severus could think of no reasonable excuse to leave her behind, so he reluctantly called Granger downstairs early that evening.

"Mr. Snape," she greeted him with a forced smile, "How are you?"

Her stilted manner—obviously she hadn't forgotten the incident either—sent a fresh wave of embarrassment and shame running through him.

It made him furious.

"Order meeting," he barked, glaring. "We're leaving now."

She was shocked and off-balance. Good. Better that than dwelling on the incident. She looked down at her wrinkled robes and patted at her untamed nest of hair.

"Well, er, all right…"

"Brilliant," he snapped, beckoning her to the front door with a sharp gesture. "I am so _grateful_ to have your consent."

The girl said nothing, looking very subdued. And Severus felt a small pang of guilt at harassing her so. He ignored it.

He took Granger's arm (making a great show of his reluctance and distaste) and cast the disillusionment charms, leading her from his home. He forced his steps to be measured and small so she could keep up. They said nothing to each other on the walk to headquarters.

There were already a great number of people there when they arrived. Severus quickly cancelled the charms and strode to head of the table where a seat had been left empty and waiting. Granger took one of the only remaining seats near the opposite end, which suited him just fine.

Many chose to greet him as they arrived and he nodded stiffly in return. Soon enough everyone had crowded into the meeting room-even Dumbledore and Figg (who had been living at headquarters) had seen fit to join them downstairs-and so Severus stood to begin the meeting.

"Welcome to the meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, held on the evening of Friday, July 18th in the year 1997," he said, and tried to banish any lingering feelings of unease so he might conduct this meeting efficiently. "As far as I am aware there are no urgent news or developments to discuss, however I believe we may all benefit from hearing of our progress, or perhaps lack of it. There is one small advancement in the matter of horcruxes..."

There were a few whispers in response to his announcement. He readily ignored them.

"But first, I ask if there is anything one of you would like to discuss?"

Silence. Just a few scattered coughs and grumbles. Severus sat.

"Well then. Benjy, how go Riddle's efforts to get past the Wall?"

The wizard chuffed a laugh and said,

"Abysmally. No progress on getting people through it. Not by foot, flight, apparition, or portkey. Only way so far is the few international floos already set up in the Ministry. But you can imagine the foreign embassies don't much appreciate being used as a transit station, eh? It's causin' a few problems I'd say."

Severus smirked and looked directly at Dumbledore.

"A rather poor setup that allows one man to shut off all access indefinitely. But I can't argue that it isn't working in our favour. Thank you, Benjy. Shacklebolt, any breakthroughs in security?"

The auror shook his head.

"Air-tight," he grumbled. And proceeded to explain all the ways in which they _couldn't_ break into the Ministry and why.

A few more people took turns in outlining their progress or, indeed, lack of it. When they were through, Severus spoke up.

"As I mentioned, there has been a small advancement in the horcrux dilemma," he said, and many sat up with renewed interest. Severus nodded toward Granger. "For the moment we are no closer to discovering how many there are or where, however Miss Granger has brought to my attention that there is a spell which may illuminate the object if we are in close proximity... animus revelo."

Alice Longbottom laughed outright and a few others smirked. But the rest seemed clueless. Severus clenched his jaw.

"Sorry," Alice said, though she didn't look very repentant. "It's just… aside from using it in divination, I've only ever seen the spell in… well, trashy novels. I wouldn't have thought to use it. Clever, really."

"Quite," Severus said stiffly. "Whatever its origins, I believe it may prove useful. When cast on a photograph of Tom Riddle we believe it will reveal the presence of any soul fragment of his in the immediate area. The wand movement is a simple twist and flick and the incantation is, again, _animus revelo_. I will remain after the meeting if anyone would like assistance in perfecting the charm.

"Anything left to discuss?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly from the corner and made a motion as if to speak. All eyes turned to look at him.

"As long as we are sharing useful charms," he said cheerfully. "I once developed a rather handy way of passing along messages. If I may demonstrate?"

Before anyone could deny him, the old wizard cast the charm and a silvery mist spouted from his wand which coalesced into the shape of a hummingbird. A patronus. But rather than flitter about its maker the bird flew in darting patterns across the room to whisper in Severus's ear using Dumbledore's voice,

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."

Severus looked at him in puzzled consternation, but the old man's guileless grin gave nothing away if there was any meaning to be found in those odd words. Others chattered excitedly as the patronus dissipated.

"Rather… ostentatious. It may invite dangerous questions if used frequently or at the wrong time but could prove useful in an emergency," Severus said, and grudgingly requested that the wizard explain how it was accomplished. Dumbledore obliged, and everyone took careful note of the intention and focus required for the spell.

"Thank you. And if there is nothing left…" No one spoke. "Thus concludes the meeting. I recommend that you remain for a time and practice these charms. Have a good evening."

Severus sat and observed as the others stood, many pairing up and leaving the room in search of more space. Very soon there were murmured spells traded back and forth, wizards and witches glowing with colour and wispy attempts at a corporeal patronus.

Figg sat observing with a bittersweet smile and Dumbledore murmured assistance to Emmeline Vance who struggled to hold on to a happy enough memory. Molly cast the _animus revelo_ charm on her husband while Lily observed. The younger witch let out a sharp gasp of astonishment.

"Why is it that you're glowing as well, Molly?" she asked, referring to the faint bit of color that had centred itself in the witch's chest. Severus began to pay close attention. Though not too close, mind you.

"They're soulmates!" Alice stated gleefully. Molly laughed heartily.

"You read too many stories, Alice!" she said with a smile, "It's nothing quite so romantic."

Severus was hooked then. Did Molly know? Was she about to reveal information that would explain… the incident? He leaned infinitesimally closer.

"It's simply… well, how can I explain?" she mused. "There are people who have such an impact on you and your life, who you are close to and care for deeply. With an open heart you accept them as part of you, and so they are. A piece of them—no, how do I put this…"

"An imprint of their soul," Miss Granger said quietly from where she'd been watching the exchange keenly.

"Yes," Molly said with a smile. "An imprint, I suppose. It reflects who they are and everything they mean to you, and you carry it always. A link, a connection. I expect you'd get the same result if you cast the spell on any of my children. There's a reason for that mother's instinct, you know."

Alice and Lily sighed happily. Severus sighed as well, but for an altogether different reason. Relief. It still didn't quite seem to fit—could the girl really have had such an impact on him?—but it was a far preferable explanation to _soulmates_ or the like.

His eyes darted to look at Miss Granger, who he found was already looking at him. Their eyes locked for a startled moment before both looked away, embarrassed.

"That's lovely," Alice said, eyes misty. "So lovely."

* * *

Now absolved of the reason for much of her stress the past few days (she was much happier to think of Mr. Snape as family than a love-interest), Hermione gladly applied herself to the task of learning a new charm. By the time most of the Order members had trickled out to head home for the night, she had successfully cast a wispy otter patronus while concentrating on the happy memory of adopting Crookshanks as her familiar.

She wasn't able to send messages just yet, but many had yet to cast a corporeal patronus even! Hermione was confident that it would come in time. Yes, she was pleased with her progress.

Feeling ready to head back to Mr. Snape's home, she approached him where he stood with Mrs. Figg near the head of the table.

"…can be trusted?" she heard the wizard say doubtfully. "Forgive me, but your choice to bring Dumbledore here leaves me somewhat skeptical of your sense for such things."

"I don't know about _trust_," the old squib admitted with pinched lips, "However they were very generous with the orphans, and that level of determination to get up the Ministry's nose suggests they could be valuable allies."

"I certainly appreciate that you're coming to me with this knowledge rather than risking us all by simply bringing them by," Mr. Snape drawled with a hard look in Mr. Dumbledore's direction. He then noticed Hermione hovering and turned to Mrs. Figg with a dismissive,

"I'll look into it."

Mrs. Figg nodded and gave Hermione a friendly goodbye before heading back upstairs.

"Ready to depart?" the wizard asked without the hostility she'd come to expect. Hermione nodded, relieved. Maybe things could return to normal, then, and not be strange as they had been since they'd made the discovery.

* * *

Indeed, things returned to the new "normal." Although Hermione still didn't see much of Mr. Snape, there was a distinct lack of the former discomfort and embarrassment when they had occasion to speak a few words.

Things between Hermione and Mr. Snape were on the mend. Meanwhile, however, things between the orphans grew heated. Disagreements and bad feelings lingered, and everyone was going a little stir crazy. Hermione was able to escape the house on a few occasions for Order meetings, able to be in different surroundings and see different faces. The others weren't so lucky.

"I want to go _outside_," young Sarah whined to Hermione one evening. Her eyes were tearing up and her face was scrunched in a way that predicted a massive tantrum was on the horizon.

Hermione sighed wearily.

"You know you can't. It's dangerous, you'll get caught and sent to Azaban." She'd said it so many times it was starting to sound stale, even to her.

"Just for a minute!" the girl persisted. "I promise I won't go far!"

She just shook her head, and Sarah stamped her foot with a growl. Hermione wondered if she'd need Opy to help restrain the girl.

Thankfully, however, Sarah seemed to understand that she'd get no farther and ran from the room in tears. Hermione was left to console the others who'd witnessed the exchange and were in a glum mood at the reminder of their circumstances.

Twenty minutes later she remained unsuccessful and decided it was time for bed. With the help of Opy and Colin, Hermione began to herd everyone up the hidden stairs. Once everyone was settled in, she looked around and frowned.

Two beds were empty. One was her own, but the other…

Sarah's. She tamped down a hot spike of panic. After all, the girl could simply be hiding in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

Not allowing herself to react outwardly to the discovery, Hermione bade everyone a good night and said she'd be going to the loo.

In reality, she searched the house frantically, heart pounding. No such luck.

"Opy," Hermione said, slightly higher in pitch than normal. The house elf popped into the sitting room immediately.

"Miss?" she squeaked.

"Do you happen to know where Sarah is?"

The elf's already large eyes grew even larger in horrified realization.

"No, Miss," she admitted, wringing her long fingers together. "Opy was looking after the little ones. Opy is sorry! Will punish Opy!"

"Don't!" Hermione cried before the elf could get a hand on the nearest hard or sharp object. "Just—don't! It's okay.

"It's okay," she said again, reassuring herself. Breathing deeply. "I'll just-" But what was she to do?

She still couldn't cast a messenger patronus. The house wasn't connected to the floo network and an owl would be too slow. Her charmed coin was synced not just to Mr. Snape's, but Auror Shacklebolt's and the rest of the Order's. Was it right to bother so many people because one little girl had wandered away? …But then all of them searching would certainly help find her faster.

And a girl wearing the distinctive, uniform robes of an orphan (for she had no others) could not be left to wander.

Decided, Hermione quickly altered the fake galleon to display a short message around its edge: _Orphan Sarah (13) lost in Hogsmeade. Must find_!

It was some relief to know that all around Wizarding Britain, matching coins were warming to notify the other Order members of Sarah's disappearance. Embarrassing as well—Hermione saw it as her fault that she'd let this happen—but it was far more important that the younger girl was safe.

But she wasn't safe yet. Hermione bit her lip nervously, heart still pounding. How long would it take the others to notice the message? Not everyone was in Hogsmeade, some of them might not be able to make it there in time to help. And the city was large, would they be able to find her before an auror did? Or someone else inclined to turn the girl in to the Ministry?

Certainly every available person was needed to assist in the search.

…And was Hermione not an Order member herself? She'd taken the vow, hadn't she?

"Stay with the other children," Hermione told Opy decisively. "and keep them calm. Keep them upstairs. I'm going outside to look for Sarah."

Opy nodded miserably and disappeared again with a pop. Hermione took a deep breath and headed to the front door.

By now the wand movements and incantation of the disillusionment charm were familiar to her, even if she'd never cast it herself. Nervously, she made the attempt. After tapping herself on the head and feeling the cold trickle of the charm take effect, she looked down and confirmed that it had worked.

It was only a small relief. Telling herself that she wasn't sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, Hermione opened the door and strode outside. By herself for the first time in weeks.

No alarms sounded, no one shouted from the street. For now she was safe, but it didn't feel like it. Hermione had taken for granted the feeling of safety she'd felt when on Mr. Snape's arm. She was disillusioned, yes, but aurors were trained to spot such tricks. Disillusioned wasn't invisible, not like Harry's cloak.

She tentatively stepped farther and farther from the house, choosing one direction at random, and looked diligently for any sign of Sarah. The younger girl easily had thirty minutes or more on her by this time, however, and she had no idea how far Sarah might have gone or even which way.

Despite it taking longer, Hermione decided to spiral out from the house hoping that she wouldn't miss her just because she'd chosen the wrong direction.

It was slow going, and the few people and horseless carriages she saw in the street nonetheless caused her to freeze in her tracks with bated breath until they passed.

Another twenty minutes had gone by the time Hermione found Sarah, not two blocks from Mr. Snape's home, huddled beside the steps of another town-house, sniffling.

But Hermione felt no joy or relief. Only paralyzing, heart-stopping fear.

For a patrolling auror was coming from the other end of the block. Getting closer and closer, his eyes darting in every direction with seasoned suspicion.

She wouldn't make it to Sarah before he passed the stairs and inevitably noticed the girl crouched on the other side.

After making this observation, Hermione stopped thinking. She started running instead.

* * *

Severus was with a customer when he felt the charmed coin in his pocket grow warm with an incoming message. Knowing that it would be urgent, he took the first opportunity to be alone in the back of his apothecary and read it quickly.

And cursed.

He wasn't certain which one was Sarah—they were all the same to him—but he knew the girl must be found immediately, and that whatever fool had allowed the orphan to slip away would get a thorough browbeating.

After ridding himself of the customer and hastily closing up shop, Severus rushed to Diagon Alley's portkey station.

And waited, and impatiently waited some more. Six minutes. And then two more. The next portkey should have left two minutes ago damnit!

Finally, _finally _he reached Hogsmeade. And abruptly felt a detached sense fear and pain. Puzzled, he allowed a mysterious instinct to guide his steps along the familiar route toward home, rather than headquarters where he'd intended to go in order to coordinate the search effort.

But it wasn't to his house that this instinct led him, rather about ten blocks or half a mile away to a bundle of shops. Or rather, to an alley in between.

A distant memory had surfaced by the time he reached that alley. Memory of a sniffling young orphan huddled in the snow with a broken arm… and the charm that had led him to her.

It was with expectation rather than surprise that he noticed the empty alley was not so empty, after all. Looking closely, he could spot the shimmer of a disillusionment charm on a large patch of the brick wall. And of course the muttering rather gave it away.

"_Expecto patronum_," a harried female voice whispered, but only the faintest white wisp escaped into the air in response. "_Expecto patronum_!"

Looking around to be sure the street was empty, Severus stepped further into the alley and cast a _finite_ at Granger so he could see her face as he castigated her.

When it was not only a pale-faced, wide-eyed Granger that appeared but also a quietly weeping young girl whom he vaguely recognized and must be the notorious Sarah, he closed his mouth and took stock of their injuries. There would be time for reprimands later.

Granger spotted him first and flinched instinctively before recognizing him. She stared, uncomprehending. Sarah just sobbed harder.

He quickly healed the curse-induced gash on Granger's shoulder and Sarah's scraped up knees. Granger's swollen ankle would have to wait until he had access to his potions, but in the meantime he immobilized it.

"How-?" Granger questioned faintly. He ignored her.

"I will refrain from shouting at the moment," Severus said tightly, "though I greatly desire to do so, because it is far more vital that we return quickly and quietly. Stand up and take my arm. I will reapply the disillusionment charm."

They complied shakily, and wisely kept their mouths shut on the slow walk back to the town-house. Although Sarah could not help but continue to sniffle.

As soon as they were home, Severus charmed his galleon to end the search: "Sarah is found."

* * *

Once a much subdued Sarah was led upstairs by Opy, Mr. Snape rounded on Hermione.

"You will tell me precisely what occurred this evening, and spare no detail," he demanded, and the quiet tone of his voice belied the absolute fury evident on his face.

Swallowing dryly, Hermione complied. Explaining Sarah's upset and disappearance, how no one had noticed until later when the others were going to bed. How she'd sent the message and left the house to search for the girl. How she'd come across her… and the auror.

"He saw her and I tried to hit him with a stunner," Hermione said quietly. "He had to scramble to block it and that gave me time to reach Sarah. I grabbed her hand, cast a disillusionment charm on her and ran. But he spotted the shimmer and sent a cutting curse. I twisted my ankle dodging but it still managed to graze me. After that… we just ran.

"Once there was enough distance between us we ducked into the alley until he passed. I didn't know where we were at that point and I don't think either of us were up to wandering for a while so I just tried to send a message. But… I couldn't even concentrate enough to cast a corporeal patronus."

She lowered her head, ashamed, expecting derision. None came. Eventually Mr. Prince's silence led her to look at him cautiously.

The wizard appeared contemplative.

"It is… unfortunate that they are now aware of an orphan's presence in Hogsmeade," he said slowly. "But it is likely only confirmation of what they already expected. I am as much to blame for the girl leaving as you. The wards were strong enough but I neglected to consider that anyone inside would be determined to get _out_.

"You handled things adequately," he concluded.

Hermione felt numb, disbelieving.

"But I-" He held up a hand.

"You notified others and were cautious in your search. It was bad luck that an auror was patrolling nearby, yet you kept yourself hidden and managed to remove the girl from a dangerous situation, preventing capture. Had she been caught, her incarceration and perhaps death would have been only the start of our troubles. Thank you."

She nodded, still waiting for the expected explosion.

"…You're welcome."

There was a moment of silence.

"Umm," Hermione said quietly, "My ankle is still throbbing. Do you think…?"

Mr. Snape nodded sharply and went to fetch the needed items from his potions cabinet. He returned with a numbing agent, de-swelling solution, minor healing draught, and dittany.

"The dittany will assist with the scarring on your shoulder," he explained.

"Thank you," she replied quietly, clumsily applying the numbing agent and dittany before downing the other vials' contents.

Which left only one thing to discuss, as far as Hermione was concerned.

"Mr. Snape…" she began uncertainly, "I was wondering—How did you find us?"

Immediately following their dash from danger, Hermione was in no state to think clearly and had failed to communicate to anyone where they were. It seemed more than coincidence that he had been able to find them in that alley so quickly, disillusioned no less. It seemed more than a bit odd. She must have been missing something.

Her question caught him off guard. Mr. Snape simply stared at her for a moment, blank-faced, before his expression became wary.

"Ah."

A beat of silence.

"You see, Miss Granger…" he seemed at a loss for where to start. "That is… years ago, I cast a charm. It seemed indecent to allow a young orphan to wander Diagon Alley alone without some measure of protection. I recalled that my mother used it on occasion. I was not aware that it would last this long…"

"What is the charm?" Hermione asked, worried, mind racing at the possibilities and implications.

"I am uncertain if it has a name," the wizard admitted stiffly. "The incantation is _animam coniungit dolor ducit_. Simply put, if you are injured and afraid I will feel an echo of those feelings and be guided to your location, within a certain range."

Oh. That didn't seem so bad, if it only took effect when she was likely to need help.

As she'd trained herself to do since she was a little first year, Hermione took in the knowledge of a new, unknown spell and attempted to suss out how it might work. Breaking down what she knew of it…

"Sir," she said, coming to a startled realization. "This could be why you carry an imprint of my soul!"

"I had reached the same conclusion."

_Oh._

"When did you-?"

"Just this evening when I remembered the charm."

Okay, that was better than him having known all this time and leaving her in the dark.

In the following silence, Hermione worked out her feelings on the matter—mixed, she was pleased to finally have a satisfactory explanation of the imprint-phenomena but was inexplicably disappointed at losing the assurance that she wasn't just another orphan to him—and continued to think about the implications of the spell.

A spell that, using a soul imprint, led its user to the original soul in an area as large as Hogsmeade. Ignoring the potential ethical dilemma…

Barely able to contain her rising excitement, Hermione forced herself to speak slowly and clearly.

"How likely do you think it is that this spell could be altered?" she asked. "Refined, distilled even... in order to be used a tracking spell for horcruxes."

After a moment's shock, the wizard smiled. His smile was uncharacteristically large, and very predatory.

"Miss Granger," he drawled. "I find it very likely indeed."

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading and a big thanks to all who comment. I love hearing what you guys think. :)


	15. Step 15

**Step 15**

* * *

It was with a mixture of embarrassment and eager anticipation that Hermione arrived at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix with Mr. Snape for the next meeting.

Embarrassment, because no doubt everyone would be clamoring for an explanation of the missing-orphan fiasco they'd all been alerted about through the charmed coins. And anticipation, because there was the news of the charm to bring up. A tool which would bring them one step closer to seeing Minister Voldemort fall… once it was ready.

Explaining what happened with Sarah was surprisingly quick and painless, although she received many concerned looks and expressions of gratitude for her continued safety. However, midway through Mr. Snape's explanation of the charm and its potential use if altered, Hermione was effectively distracted from the highly anticipated event by a whispering in her ear.

"Hermione," the voice said, from so close that she could feel the breath on her cheek.

She jumped a good inch out of her chair and whipped her head toward the direction of the voice.

And saw nothing. No one. The older witch sitting beside her gave her an odd look, though.

While Hermione stared at nothing with confusion, Mrs. Weasley commented that the spell had fallen out of favour in the last century because it was thought to be almost dark in nature. That started a short flurry of worried discussion before the concern was dismissed.

"Hermione!" The voice came again, and Hermione thought it sounded awfully familiar. Either she was going mad, hearing things, or that voice belonged to her trouble-making friend who also happened to own an invisibility cloak… "It's me, Harry." That settled it, then. "Meet me in the hall?" he asked, and she subtly nodded.

She tried to stand discretely while Mr. Snape asked if anyone was up to the task of assisting in the alteration of the charm. Muttering a general "pardon me" to the room with a carefully neutral expression, Hermione slipped away as Mrs. Potter volunteered.

When she entered the hall, Harry lowered the hood of his cloak and Hermione tackled his invisible body with a firm hug.

"It's so good to see you!" she said quietly, eyes nearly tearing up before she forced herself to pull away with a furious scowl. "But what are you doing here!? And _how_ are you here?"

"I just followed my parents," he explained with a shrug. "Suddenly all these other kids show up to live with us, mum's hiding with them from the aurors in a secret room, somehow they know that you're safe _somewhere_, and both of them are disappearing regularly to who knows where? That just reeks of plotting, they had to be meeting someone. I didn't expect to see you here though!"

"I kind of forced Mr. Snape into letting me join," she admitted, unsure of how much she could say without revealing too much. How much had he heard already? "It's the good kind of plotting, I promise. We're here to do good things."

"Of course," Harry said, as if surprised it needed to be said. "Which is why I'm here. Well, aside from wanting to know what mum and dad have been up to. But they wouldn't listen to me, and I really need to tell you -"

"Do enlighten us… Mr. Potter, is it?" Mr. Snape drawled. They both flinched, letting out undignified squeaks and turning to find the wizard in the now-open doorway. Worried Order members watched silently from inside the meeting room. "Just what is so vital that you couldn't pass the message along to Miss Granger through your parents?"

Rather than stammer and apologize, Harry removed the cloak fully, drew himself tall and met the older wizard's eyes with confidence. He said firmly,

"Mum and the ophans aren't safe. They need to be moved."

"They will never be _safe_ as long as there is a Ministry-sanctioned warrant on their heads," Mr. Snape said, sneering. "Relocating to another house will not change that. We have put in place the best wards and precautions –"

"It's not good enough!" Harry shouted, seemingly unable or unwilling to restrain himself any longer out of concern for his mother and friends. "All it takes is one careless moment, one observant auror and they're _gone_!"

By that time, Mr. and Mrs. Potter had emerged to surround their son, alternatively chiding and soothing.

"There's no other choice," Mrs. Potter told her son gently. "We know it's horrible, Harry, but there's nowhere else to go. Nowhere is safe."

"Stay here then!" Harry cried, "There's some sort of spell on the house, isn't there? I couldn't even see it until I touched your sleeve."

"And what about the other orphans?" Mr. Potter asked him sadly. "It's too small to hold them all, and the fidelius wouldn't work with any magical alterations. How should we choose who gets to stay here? It could only be a few."

"I don't care if it's _fair_," he said stubbornly, "I just want you to be safe!"

"What about somewhere muggle?" a gentle voice put forward from the group of enthralled witches and wizards in the meeting room. All heads turned to Arthur Weasley. "After all… unlike the Ministry, we have the key to getting through the Wall: Albus Dumbledore."

There was a stunned silence. It simply hadn't occurred to anyone to venture into muggle territory. Anyone below the age of forty had grown up knowing nothing of the world beyond the Wall, and everyone else had been confined for so long it became an ingrained state of mind.

The world beyond the wall was unknown. Frightening. There were _muggles_ out there. It wasn't safe! …But then these days Wizarding Britain was no better.

"An intriguing proposal," Mr. Snape said eventually amid the fearful muttering. "But that does not truly solve the dilemma of _where_. Dumping near one-hundred children plus thirty-odd adults into the wilderness or the middle of a muggle city to fend for themselves sounds little safer than our present circumstances."

"…Harry has a house," Mr. Potter said. From Harry's shocked expression this seemed to be news to him as well. "Sirius left it to him. No one was ever able to afford to get it Walled off so it's been sitting empty for a few decades. Not sure if it's still there to be honest. That is, if Harry doesn't mind…"

"Of course not!" Harry replied. "Can we move tonight?"

'No need to be… hasty," Mr. Snape said, and in her mind Hermione mentally corrected '_hasty_' to '_such a Gryffindor_.' He'd never been silent about his opinion of her house. "Nothing has yet been decided. _If,_ indeed the house is still there and unoccupied, it will take time to determine its suitability and ensure security is in place, prepare for its new occupants as well as plan the discreet migration of a large group of individuals wanted by the Ministry."

"But how long will that take?" asked Harry, fidgeting with impatience. "They need to move _now!_ It's not safe!"

"We have managed for this long as things are," the older wizard said, "I think we can manage a few days longer."

Harry clearly desired to protest further but was restrained by his parents who wanted to see an end to the argument.

"Potter, if you are free after the meeting I would be interested in seeing this house. With Dumbledore's assistance, of course," Mr. Snape addressed the two Order members, neatly dismissing Harry from further notice.

"Of course," Mr. Dumbledore said, nodding with a genial smile. He watched the Potters with interest. "And if I may say so, that is a remarkable cloak you carry, young Mr. Potter."

"A family heirloom," the older Mr. Potter boasted after agreeing to Mr. Snape's request.

The rest of the Order members by that time were standing and conversing among themselves as the meeting showed no sign of continuing just yet.

"Do you suppose I might examine it for a moment?" the former minister continued, feigning nonchalance.

Harry seemed in no mood to accommodate him.

"No," he said, and ignored his mother's chiding. "No, mum! It's ours and he can't borrow it."

"Ah. As you wish, merely a curiosity," was Mr. Dumbledore's response. But Hermione thought his smile was just a little less genuine after that.

"If we're quite done," Mr. Snape drawled with poor temper. "There's the small matter of this boy stumbling upon our secret organization's headquarters, having made no vow to keep it a secret himself."

"You wouldn't obliviate him!?" Mrs. Potter whispered fearfully. "He's just a boy—"

"I'm seventeen next week," Harry muttered.

"—and I'm certain he won't tell anyone!"

"Who would I tell?"

"Nonetheless, for the safety of everyone involved. Obliviate or vow," Mr. Snape said.

"Oh, don't involve my Harry in this…" came Mrs. Potter's plea. Mr. Potter tried to comfort her, arm around her shoulders.

"It's my choice, isn't it?" Harry asked, frowning. Mr. Snape nodded. "Then I'll take any vow. I don't want to forget you promised to move mum in a few days!"

He ignored the protests of his parents.

"I don't recall any such promise," Mr. Snape murmured, looking bemused. "But I will look into making alternative arrangements, certainly."

"You'd better," Harry threatened ineffectually, still acting anxious.

Having been until that moment content to watch silently, Hermione saw that things were reaching a resolution and tentatively suggested,

"Should we continue with the meeting, then?"

Mr. Snape nodded.

"Excellent suggestion, Miss Granger. I think we've given enough time to this distraction," he said, turning on his heel and swiftly re-entering the meeting room. The others took notice and began to rearrange themselves, quieting down.

"Distraction?" Harry grumbled. Hermione laughed softly and gave her friend another hug.

"Welcome to the Order, Harry."

"Order?" he asked, "What's that?"

"The Order of the Phoenix," she said, amused. "It's the secret organization you just agreed to join."

"Oh," he said. A pause. "Wicked."

* * *

Once the meeting had concluded and the Potter boy was officially inducted into the Order, Severus quickly returned Miss Granger home before meeting Potter and Dumbledore back at headquarters.

"I've never been there," Potter admitted, "But I know the address. Is that enough to go on?"

"Quite lucky I have a map, then," Dumbledore said cheerfully, conjuring said map from thin air. Severus decided not to question why he would have such a thing. "Islington, did you say?"

Potter nodded and the old wizard began to unfold the small rectangle of paper… again and again as the map of London expanded. Seeing the size of it, Severus was glad they wouldn't be attempting to find it on foot or some such nonsense.

Once they'd located the borough of Islington, Potter helpfully supplied,

"12 Grimmauld Place is the address."

And thus began their tedious search as the three wizards huddled over a square of paper, squinting at the fine print to find the correct street.

"Found it!" Potter said excitedly, pointing at a short squiggle near Highbury Fields that, indeed, was labelled "Grimmauld Pl."

After studying the location for a moment, Dumbledore tapped the map with a whispered "portus." Potter grabbed a corner.

"I hope you don't mind my tagging along," the old wizard said. "But alas, without my magical signature any portkey will be rejected by the wards."

"Delightful," Severus muttered, reaching to grip an edge of the map before casting a disillusionment charm on himself and the others. "Let's get on with this, then."

Within moments he felt the unpleasant tugging in the navel that signified portkey travel. When the nauseating sensation receded he was standing beside an unassuming residential street. The only thing which marked it as especially foreign or unusual to him were the bizzare carriages lining either side of it. A vague memory from past reading informed him that these were likely "automobiles." He wouldn't have thought there would be so many of them, however.

After determining that no one else was in sight, Severus decided to remove the disillusionment charms. It would make the search easier to coordinate if they could see each other, although it left them vulnerable. Surely muggles couldn't recognize wizards just by looking at them?

"Well then," Potter said, looking dazed and nervous. "We'd better find number 12."

It didn't take long. Though all of the homes on Grimmauld Place were old, most were renovated and well cared for. Except one, conspicuous, looming town-house in horrible disrepair with its dirty windows and peeling paint. It was dark and clearly vacant.

This, of course, was number 12.

A cursory examination of the magic surrounding the house explained how it could have survived in such a state. Unplottable with muggle-repelling charms. None of the muggles would even know it was there.

A simple _alohomora_ was enough to open the front door. It squeaked horribly, and the inside was just as unimpressive as the exterior.

Thick layers of dust and webs, a number of insects and pests had made themselves at home, including several nests of doxies. They quickly warded those off for safety as they had no doxycide at present.

The only positive thing Severus could think about the home was that it was a decent size. A large kitchen under the ground floor and several stories above. Although the almost complete lack of furnishings or contents of any kind coupled with its state of dilapidation gave nothing away about its previous owners, the generous amount of space suggested that they were well-off or had been once.

"This place is a wreck," Potter said, rather obviously, and looked unaccountably put out. What had he expected? Malfoy Manor?

"It was abandoned decades ago," was all that Severus said. No need to dredge up old hostilities.

"It has a certain charm," was Dumbledore's comment, and Severus shared a disbelieving look with his old nemesis.

They continued to inspect the upper stories in silence.

…Until Potter opened one door and cried out in shocked dismay, rushing inside. Severus and Dumbledore quickly followed, wands drawn.

And found Potter standing pale and frozen with disbelief beside the still figure of his wife. Blood was pooled around her, having come from a multitude of wounds. Lily Potter's face was pallid with death.

Horrifying and shocking, but so out of place and without reason that it could only mean…

"Boggart," Potter rasped, eyes beginning to water. "Forgive me, but I- I can't…"

Dumbledore strode forward, wand raised and eyes determined. Lily's corpse quickly became his own doppleganger. It was Dumbledore but not. His features exaggerated unattractively, his face twisted into a cruel sneer.

"_Imperio!_" The boggart hissed ineffectually.

"_Riddikulus!_" was the true Dumbledore's counter. In an instant his doppleganger was dressed in garish, womens undergarments complete with stockings, face painted in overdone makeup. In short, he wouldn't look out of place in one of Knockturn Alley's more questionable establishments. Severus found it far more frightening than the boggart's previous incarnation as Dumbledore's evil twin.

Potter let out a startled bark of laughter, and coupled with Dumbledore's strained chuckle it was enough to banish the boggart.

"Well," Potter said into the uncertain silence that followed. "That was a bit more excitement than I'd planned on."

"Boggarts, doxies, and dust aside," Severus said, deciding (rather graciously he thought) to put the disturbing incident of the boggart from their minds. "This house seems a reasonable alternative for the orphans once the aforementioned annoyances are removed and more rooms are added."

"Making the rooms larger will be easier than making new rooms entirely," Potter pointed out, seeming grateful for the change in topic. Dumbledore was silent, lost in his own troubled thoughts.

"Indeed," Severus acknowledged, "Though less comfortable for their inhabitants. We may compromise by adding a few new rooms and enlarging those already present." Potter nodded. "Given that there are three competent wizards gathered already, we may as well begin the renovations."

"And you wanting to get it done sooner rather than later has nothing to do with my son's pleading, I'm sure?" Potter teased, and Severus arranged his expression to be perfectly blank.

"Certainly not. I am simply eager to be rid of the pests that have invaded my own house."

Potter laughed and clapped a hand on Severus' shoulder with a friendly smile. If someone had suggested to him a year ago that James Potter would be treating him with any sort of friendly regard, Severus would have thought them quite mad.

And yet here they were. The world must simply be mad.

"Right, Snape. I'll let you keep playing the bastard." The familiar slur was said without malice. "Let's get started then, shall we?"

It was hard, magically-draining work that took hours. But when they were done, the town-house had enough space to house all one hundred-odd orphans and another fifty more as well with some squeezing. It needed furnishing and a good cleaning, as well as a thorough dose of doxycide. That could all wait for another night, however.

"Portkey back to headquarters?" Potter slurred, leaning against the doorframe. It was near one in the morning. Dumbledore obliged and the wizards were soon releasing the map-turned-portkey with a lurch, recovering from the disorienting method of travel back in Hogsmeade.

"Maybe we can set up a floo between here and there, eh?" Potter suggested, still looking a bit peaky. "I've never much liked portkeys."

Severus was uncertain what that would entail. Most likely Dumbledore's assistance would be needed again, but it seemed a good suggestion so he nodded.

"Perhaps."

"A thoroughly invigorating evening," Dumbledore said abruptly. "I thank you for including me in your little adventure. Alas, my old bones need a good night's beauty sleep. Tootles!"

And he scampered upstairs.

Severus and Potter shook their heads. It was difficult to believe that the dotty old wizard was the powerful and once-respected Minister Dumbledore.

They soon parted with tired goodbyes and made their way to their respective homes.

Severus was asleep moments after falling into bed.

* * *

He struggled to open his gritty eyes in the ungodly early hours of the next morning. The sun hadn't even risen. It wasn't until he'd blinked for several minutes that he was able to focus on what had woken him.

A lynx patronus, glowing dimly in the dark of his bedroom.

"They've raided the Potters'," Auror Shacklebolt's voice came from the creature. "James and Lily are dead. The orphans are in custody, no sign of the boy. Meet me at the house."

Severus couldn't comprehend the message at first. Couldn't believe. Didn't want to believe.

Until it finally sunk in, until he felt that he was drowning in fear and horror.

_Lily_.

They hadn't managed to repair the friendship they'd once had, were civil but not particularly close. But the memory of their friendship and what it had meant to him were still strong.

Lily was _dead_.

Severus dressed quickly and mechanically, feeling oddly hollow once the initial panic had passed. Unable to contemplate the repercussions. He had to meet Kingsley. Not at headquarters apparently, but at "the house." He must have meant the Potters'.

It didn't take long to get there. He approached the house quietly under a disillusionment charm, staring at the ghastly, green symbol of the aurors hovering brightly above the house. The snake undulated silently inside the mouth of a grinning skull. It was left as a warning.

'_They thought they could defy us_,' it warned, '_and they paid the price_.'

"Kingsley," he whispered.

"Here," came a low reply, and the auror emerged from the shadows. Having heard his voice and spotted the shimmer, Kingsley's eyes were locked on his location. Severus cancelled the disillusionment charm anyway.

"How did this happen?" Severus asked. Stiffly. Numb.

Kingsley looked around suspiciously before beckoning him inside the house.

The front door had been smashed in, signs of conflict were everywhere. Things were destroyed, thrown to the floor. Blood staining the carpet.

The large painting that was the entrance to the secret enclosure where the orphans hid hung broken and skewed, the room behind revealed to all. Empty.

"I was called in a few hours ago to conduct a raid on a house nearby. No prior warning to any of us," the auror explained. "From what I've put together, spotting that orphan the other day inspired the higher-ups to invade all the houses of suspicious persons nearby. Families of mudbloods, friends, sympathizers and the like. Only they thought to call in some experts on wards and curse-breakers as well this time."

Kingsley met his eyes directly.

"Severus, I didn't know. If I had-"

"You are not to blame," Severus said, distracted by the reality of destruction around him. "And the Potters?"

"Aurors broke in, Potter came downstairs to investigate. I'm told he protested, but not aggressively until they found the hidden room. He tried to protect the orphans."

Kingsley shook his head.

"It was suicide. One wizard against four aurors, he had no chance. When his wife came downstairs… well, she tried to protect _him_ but as you can imagine she didn't have any more success. If they hadn't resisted-"

"They'd be in Azkaban awaiting a dementor's kiss, most likely," Severus snapped. "They tried to spare the children that horror."

Kingsley raised his eyebrows as if to ask 'and how did that work out?' Severus ignored him.

"Your message said that the Potter boy is missing."

The auror nodded.

"They expected to find him in his room, but he wasn't in the house. They think he's staying at a friend's."

"And what do you think?" Severus asked, eyebrow raised. The auror hadn't needed to bring him to the Potters' to explain what happened, after all.

Kingsley shrugged.

"I thought there might be another hidden room somewhere. Thought you might know where to find it."

"I do not."

Severus looked around the torn-up space with a frown. It would be difficult to locate such a room without a greater expertise in wards.

If, however...

"_Accio _invisibility cloak," Severus cast. It took mere moments for the shimmering bundle of cloth to sail its way from upstairs into his hand.

After that it was simple enough to find the young wizard, bound as he was in the corner of his bedroom. His body was immobile, but his eyes were darting around, full of anger and fear.

"Where are my parents!?" Harry Potter shouted the moment they'd cast a _finite_.

Severus shared a wary look with Kingsley, uncertain of what to say.

How did one tell a young wizard that his parents were dead?


	16. Step 16

**Step 16**

* * *

Out of necessity they related the facts of the situation, what had happened.

Potter's eyes widened with horror, face twisted grief… and then nothing. No yelling, no crying or moaning in disbelief. His expression settled into one of grim acceptance.

Severus was somewhat relieved. He had no idea how to comfort or deal with a hysterical teenager. Nonetheless, the boy's silence was unnerving as Severus guided him from his ruined home to Order headquarters while the sun rose in the sky. Kingsley left from there, being needed back at the Ministry.

Severus wondered what to do next. For lack of any better ideas, he took them into the kitchen and began preparing a pot of tea.

Knowing he was out of his depth, he cast his patronus and sent it off to summon Molly Weasley. The witch had seven children, surely she was capable of handling this one?

Severus sat in silence across from the boy as he waited, sipping his tea and pondering. He should have been making plans, determining possible repercussions of the night and preparing to move the other orphans as soon as possible. The aurors had discovered one of the hidden rooms, there was nothing to keep them from discovering the rest now that they knew exactly what to look for.

But instead he was dwelling on the deaths of Lily and James Potter. Dwelling on the capture of nine orphans who may very well be on their way to Azkaban soon. The horrors that they'd face. If only they had thought to move them sooner, if only the aurors had come a few days later.

If only…

His eyes narrowed.

The more he thought about it, the stranger it seemed. That Potter would show up just before his home was raided, insistent that the orphans and his mother be moved immediately.

Very strange. Suspicious even. By the time Molly arrived thirty minutes later, Severus had worked himself into quite a state, glaring at the oblivious boy.

Molly clucked and cooed over Potter, her own eyes teary at the events of the night while the boy's remained dry.

Severus couldn't contain himself any longer

"How did you know they were coming?" he asked forcefully. Potter and Molly looked at him with wide eyes. "How could you have known? Yet you must have. You chose _that _day to follow your parents to headquarters, out of all the other meetings. They were in hiding for weeks and yet you chose _that_ day to insist they be moved. _Urgently_. _Now_ you said. How. Did. You. _Know_?"

"I just _knew_!" Harry yelled, "I don't know how! Why does it matter? I knew they weren't safe. I knew and _you didn't listen!_"

"For Merlin's sake, leave the poor boy alone!" Molly snapped at him, moving in to enfold the now-sobbing boy in her arms. "It's no more than coincidence, and he doesn't need your questions after the night he's had!"

"Did you tell anyone the orphans were there? Overheard something you shouldn't have?" He had to be sure.

"No!" Potter choked out. "I just knew. Why didn't you listen!?"

Severus deflated with a sigh. He was being irrational and paranoid. There was no reason to suspect it was more than coincidence. Kingsley already said that it was Sarah who'd inspired the raids. Or at least, had inspired the Ministry to conduct them so soon. And surely Potter would have shared any information that would have helped protect his mother.

"My apologies," he said wearily. "I thought we had time to make arrangements. I was wrong. We will begin moving everyone to your house in London immediately."

"It's too late," Potter whispered hoarsely.

Severus grimaced. Yes, too late for some. Hopefully not for the others.

"Molly," he said. The witch frowned at him, still angry about his questioning the boy he was sure. "If you're willing, I'd like you to take Potter home with you. The Ministry is under the impression that he is with friends at present and I wouldn't like to disabuse them of that notion. I believe you have a son his age? Kingsley tells me that he will not arrested for his parents' actions, only questioned. Although highly unpleasant, I think it best to cooperate on this matter. The vow will prevent him from sharing anything important. Arthur should take him to the Ministry to settle things."

Molly nodded. Potter didn't react.

"Of course he's welcome at the Burrow."

"Excellent."

Severus stood, resolved to do what he could to protect the other orphans. He bade Molly and the boy farewell and made his way upstairs to wake Dumbledore. The apothecary would have to wait.

He was exhausted. His day had only just begun.

* * *

"Misses must pack!"

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes to investigate the source of the noise that had woken her, blinking slowly as her eyes focused.

Opy the house elf stood among the crowded beds, urgently trying to wake everyone. Hermione felt a creeping sense of _déjà vu_.

"What's going on, Opy?" she asked. The house elf twitched in a shrug.

"Master Severus says wake and pack, all of yous! Must be leaving soon."

Hermione complied quickly with a few flicks of her wand, hurrying downstairs with her things in the hopes of interrogating Mr. Snape. Were aurors on their way? But surely they would be told to _stay_ in the room if that were the case, and she hadn't received any warning messages on her charmed coin. Were they going somewhere? Harry's house? But that wasn't supposed to be ready for days.

She found the wizard in an armchair in the sitting room, head back and eyes closed, frowning. Was he asleep?

"…Mr. Snape?"

His eyes opened lethargically as he fixed his eyes on her, still frowning. Awake then, although barely it seemed.

"Ah, Miss Granger!" came a voice, at which point Hermione spotted Mr. Dumbledore standing in the entryway leading to the kitchen. "Splendid to see you. Lovely morning for a change of scenery, don't you think?"

"Um… I suppose?" she said, looking between the two wizards. "Are we leaving then? Why so soon?"

Mr. Dumbledore became far less cheerful, even hesitant.

"Ah. Well…"

"The Potters are dead," Mr. Snape said from the armchair, and Hermione gasped. Harry-!? "Their son is well and in the care of the Weasleys at the moment, however the orphans were taken into custody by the aurors. It is no longer safe in Hogsmeade. Indeed, in any part of Wizarding Britain. Hence, the accelerated move."

Hermione couldn't process it. Harry was safe, but oh his parents! And the other orphans, most of them just children! It was unthinkable.

"I have to see Harry!" He couldn't be alone, not after what had happened.

"Your concern for your friend is admirable, but safety is our more immediate concern. He is safe in Molly's care. And you will be safe in London."

The other orphans were stumbling downstairs at that point. When they saw Mr. Dumbledore, each of them gaped with recognition and awe. It wasn't often that many found themselves in the presence of the former Minister for Magic, after all. Especially after he had disappeared with Minister Voldemort's appointment.

Hermione decided it was wise not to further complicate things by arguing with the exhausted wizard. Likely he had more important things to be doing than escorting her to visit her friend.

Mr. Snape rose slowly and shepherded them to a portkey with the barest minimum of explanations. And after a short, dizzying journey they were deposited in the entryway of a dusty old townhouse already abuzz with activity. Witches, wizards, and house elves were scattered around performing various tasks, tidying the rooms for use.

An older witch greeted them and offered to show the orphans to their rooms and the children eagerly followed.

Hermione hesitated.

"Mr. Snape… might I not stay in Hogsmeade?"

He frowned.

"And why should you want to do that?"

A number of reasons and excuses crossed her mind. But mostly… she felt safe in his home. It was familiar and comfortable. _He_ was familiar and comfortable. Yet…

"This house has no books," was all she said. She wasn't even sure it was true, but given the extremely sparse furnishings she thought it likely. And what would she do without books?

Mr. Snape appeared less than impressed with her reasoning.

"You'll have to make do for a time," he told her, and gestured in the direction of her departing companions. "Until then I suggest you get settled."

"But what about Order meetings?" It was a last ditch effort.

"We will be setting up a floo connection between the two houses shortly."

"Oh. Then I guess… goodbye, Mr. Snape," Hermione said reluctantly, "Mr. Dumbledore," and slowly walked away to trail the others upstairs. The two wizards bid her a short farewell before turning to each other to converse.

By the time Hermione was unpacked in her new room and back downstairs they were gone.

And so she wandered the house aimlessly for a time, watching as the adults the Order had been sheltering from the Ministry went about making the building habitable. _Scourgify_ing here and there, eliminating doxies and unshrinking furniture that had come from who knows where. The house elves seemed affronted that wizards were doing "elf work," but they were so busy in the kitchens they had little time to object.

No one paid her any mind. No one asked her to help, and she didn't really want to offer. But neither did she really want to go back upstairs where all the orphans were gathered, friends boisterously celebrating their reunion.

Her attention turned toward the grimy windows. Or rather, what lie beyond them: muggle territory. That mysterious, dangerous place that she'd never had the chance to know. Her birth place. Her parents' home.

And there was no Wall here to bar her entry.

She looked around furtively. Should she ask someone? But who? And wouldn't they just say no?

There was no reason to think anyone would recognize her, much less know that she was a witch. Muggles didn't even know that magic existed!

Well practiced, Hermione strode casually toward the front door. No one noticed. No one was looking. There was a glowing, magical ward right in front of the door that Hermione recognized as an age line. Hoping it was set to the standard seventeen, she took a nervous step forward and sighed with relief when it allowed her to pass. She slipped out quietly and felt a rush of victory and excitement.

Hermione looked up and down the street, eying the strange carriages lining the street with curiosity. There were so many of them! But far more interesting were the few _people_ walking alongside. _Muggles_! Oddly dressed though they were, the muggles seemed harmless and paid her no mind as she stood awkwardly frozen on the front step of the townhouse.

Gathering her courage, she stepped onto the pavement and took a few slow steps away from the house only to freeze soon after. A woman was approaching her at a brisk jog, dressed in the most scandalous outfit Hermione had ever seen. Tight and revealing, the two piece outfit seemed more suitable as undergarments than clothing. Was she running from something? Or someone? But the woman didn't seem to be in a great hurry or in distress.

Hermione couldn't help but stare. And once the muggle noticed her she stared in return. They shared puzzled, nervous looks until the woman passed her by at a slightly faster pace than she'd approached.

Looking around, no one else seemed to be running so Hermione felt it safe to walk.

She walked to the end of the block and stood at the corner watching as more of the strange carriages sped along the street. They were much faster than the carriages in Hogsmeade.

Hermione frowned. Come to think of it, how did the carriages move if they weren't enchanted? Or was this part of the "science" that made muggles so dangerous?

After receiving several more strange looks from passing muggles, Hermione decided it was best that she return to the house.

And so her first jaunt into Muggle London ended peacefully and without fanfare. No one screamed or shouted "witch!" No one harmed her or acted crazy. Just ordinary people going about their ordinary business. The experience left Hermione feeling relieved and yet oddly disturbed.

_This_ was what the Wall had been built to protect them from?

* * *

Mr. Snape came by only briefly the next day along with Mr. Dumbledore to assist in connecting the fireplace to Order Headquarters via floo. He informed her that only she and the few other Order members in the house would be able to use it as the location of Headquarters was still secret kept. You couldn't floo somewhere without a floo address, and only Order members were let in on the Secret of the Headquarters' address after all.

It was midway through the day and already Hermione was feeling restless in the house chock-full of people. Mr. Snape's house was seeming peaceful and spacious in comparison. And there really were no books! Only those that Hermione had in her trunk, and she'd read each of them at least three times already.

And so she made her way toward the fireplace and opened the fresh pot of floo powder. She remembered seeing some books at headquarters. It would be quiet and, after all, no one had told her she couldn't.

A dash of powder, whispered words to the emerald flame, a step and she was off. Stumbling into the Hogsmeade townhouse along with a cloud of ash. Coughing, she cleaned up the mess with a wave of her wand and then made her way upstairs.

The house was much quieter without everyone gathered for a meeting. From the faint noise it seemed that someone was in the training room, but Hermione wasn't too keen on investigating. She was scheduled for defense training twice a week and it had been so unpleasantly taxing so far that she would rather avoid any unnecessary supplemental work, thank you very much.

She went straight to the small study on the second floor, pausing when she opened the door and found the room unexpectedly occupied.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here! I'll leave you alone."

"Please," Mr. Dumbledore said with a genial smile from an armchair. "Do join me. I believe my eyes are about to cross, reading all of this small script. I could use a distraction."

Hermione entered the room slowly.

"I don't want to be a bother. I only thought I could find something to read."

"Happen to have any interest in old treatises about spell alteration?" the wizard said, rubbing a hand over tired eyes beneath his spectacles.

Hermione took an unconscious step forward.

"What language are they in?" she asked eagerly.

The old wizard's face crinkled in a smile.

"Most are in Old English and Latin, however there are a few Old Gaelic and Sanskrit as well."

"I could help with the Latin," she suggested, approaching the stack of manuscripts he had piled on a side table. He waved a welcoming hand toward the collection.

"By all means."

Hermione lifted the first bundle of old parchments carefully, although she knew that a number of spells were likely in place to protect them from her touch. She then settled into the armchair opposite his.

"What exactly am I looking for?" she asked.

"Any mention of souls, really," Mrs. Dumbledore said. "Modern spells rarely manipulate the soul in any fashion, and any alterations of those that do could prove disastrous. Best that we try to glean any advice from those who came before us."

"All right."

Many peaceful hours followed as the unlikely pair read silently. Occasionally Hermione would mark a passage that mentioned souls with her wand, but it was a rarity and none of it seemed particularly useful. Yet she was engrossed by the text and all the fascinating topics it discussed. Some of it she knew had since been disproven, other parts explained things she'd never thought to wonder about, or introduced totally new things she wondered weren't more well known.

She neglected to notice the passage of time until that evening when Mr. Snape came upon them. He opened the door and greeted her with a frown.

"It is considerate to inform someone when you intend to disappear unexpectedly," he said. Hermione flushed, feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry. I only meant to find something to read."

"Tell Arabella next time," is all he said before sending off a patronus explaining that she was safe at Headquarters.

Mr. Snape then joined them, conjuring another chair and reaching for a manuscript.

"Progress?" he asked.

"Coming along splendidly," Mr. Dumbledore said, but Hermione thought his smile looked just a bit forced.

"Hmm."

And the three read silently.

* * *

It was the evening of the next scheduled Order meeting and Hermione waited anxiously for Harry to arrive.

The moment he entered headquarters in the company of the Weasleys she pounced, pulling him into a tight hug right there in the entry hall, tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she said. He shrugged, making no move to return the embrace. So she stepped back and took a good look at him. His pallid, sullen face. Drooping, bloodshot eyes, glasses askew. Hair even messier than usual, though she wouldn't have thought it possible.

The Weasleys and a few others were watching, so she tugged him upstairs toward the study to get some privacy before the meeting. He followed mutely.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, watching him carefully.

A shrug. She frowned. How could she comfort him if he closed himself off?

"How are you feeling?"

It was apparently the wrong thing to say. His face twisted into a scowl and he snapped.

"I don't know, Hermione, my parents were just murdered. How do you think I feel? Sad? Angry? Well you're right. Congratulations, you figured it out! The brilliant Hermione Granger solves another one."

She gasped, eyes wide. More shocked than hurt. She'd never known Harry to be so... mean.

"I understand that you're upset-"

"Upset? You _don't_ understand, Hermione. You can't, you don't _have_ parents! You can't know how it feels to lose them."

Taut silence.

"You're right," Hermione said, expression pinched as her voice constricted. "I don't know what it feels like, because I never even knew my parents. But that feeling-knowing that I've effectively lost them, even though they're still out there somewhere. Knowing that they didn't abandon me, that I was stolen away but I'll never get the chance to know them, that I lost that chance for stupid, petty reasons, because of the stupid, thrice-damned Wall... I know _that_ feeling, because I've felt it every day that I can remember. You had seventeen years with your parents, Harry, and they told you every day that they loved you."

By that time Hermione was shaking, overcome with years of pent up resentment and longing.

"You think about that before thinking you're the only one who knows grief, before yelling at people who are only trying to help you."

And she walked away, ignoring his attempts to call her back. She settled herself in the meeting room with a stony expression, waiting for the last few members to arrive.

Harry slunk into the room just before the meeting began, looking even more miserable than before. Hermione hardened her heart, still angry.

She hardly paid attention as Mr. Snape announced the raid on the Potters and explained the changed situation of the orphans for those who did not already know. She ignored the sympathetic murmurings of the Order members just as Harry did. She sat stewing in negative emotion as the topic gradually shifted to other things, standard reports of lack of progress.

Her attention was caught, however, as the meeting wound down and Harry loudly interrupted Mr. Shape's closing remarks.

"So you're doing nothing?" His tone was incredulous, furious.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter?" came Mr. Snape's calm reply.

"My parents are dead, their murderers are running the country and innocent people are in Azkaban, including children! And you're doing nothing!"

Several angry people began to reply at once. Recently orphaned or no, they weren't going to let some kid disparage their efforts. Mr. Snape raised a hand to silence them.

"And what would you suggest that we do?" he asked.

"You could start by getting them out of Azkaban or, oh I don't know, taking down the Ministry. Which is what I thought we were here to do!"

"Certainly. And how would you suggest that we manage this extraordinary feat?"

Harry scowled.

"No answer? No ideas about storming a secure Ministry or dementor-guarded island prison with our paltry, untrained force and limited resources?"

Furious silence.

"I thought not," Mr. Snape said.

"So maybe I don't know how with only thirty seconds to think. But I shouldn't be the only one trying to think of a way! You've had months! And now mum and dad are dead and you still haven't gotten anywhere. _Ron_ could do loads better than you lot."

"Ron-?" A raised eyebrow.

"Ron Weasley. We've faced worse odds in matches and his ideas have always gotten us ahead."

"This isn't quidditch, Mr. Potter."

"Quidditch, war, it's all strategy. And it seems you have none."

Rather than get angry, Mr. Snape stared at Harry piercingly, contemplative.

"You think young Mr. Weasley can do what we have not been able to manage. We, a group of intelligent, established witches and wizards," he clarified.

Harry stubbornly nodded.

"Well then. Molly, Arthur, if you would please bring your son to our next meeting. I would be interested to meet such an extraordinary young man."

He ignored the shock and sideways glances of everyone in the room.

"I must object!" Mrs. Weasley said. "This is too dangerous to get a boy involved in!"

"Is he seventeen?" Mr. Snape asked. Harry nodded. "Then I believe it is up to him to decide if it is worth the risk. Any other concerns before we end the meeting?"

Everyone sat in confused silence.

"Excellent. Then I bid you all goodnight."

Rather than linger as he usually did, Mr. Snape stood immediately and left the room, making his way upstairs. Hermione watched him go, then glared at Harry reproachfully.

* * *

Severus sat in the study, tired eyes skimming the worn pages. He didn't notice the other person entering until she spoke.

"Harry is wrong," Miss Granger said with conviction. "You are doing something."

"The boy is correct," he said, resisting a sigh. "We are taking no steps to see that those who are imprisoned are released, or to overthrow the Ministry that imprisoned them. Our political plays are useless when everyone is too fearful to back us or take any action themselves. No one will risk the Minister's wrath. We are doing nothing, and I would be deluding myself to think otherwise."

"You've protected us, and you're altering that spell to find the Minister's horcruxes!"

"Far too few, and the spell is far from complete. Once it is, destroying a few objects will still bring us no closer to the Minister himself."

She was silent after that, having no retort. It was true, after all. He went back to reading.

"Do you feel guilty?" she asked quietly. "Because you didn't listen to Harry before? Is that why you believe him now?"

Severus paused. Was it true? Yes. But then so were the boy's accusations.

"I took it upon myself to protect them, and I failed," he said.

"But you couldn't have known they would come so soon! You were already preparing to move them. If it had been just a few days later-!"

"_If_ we had considered moving them outside the wall sooner, this could have been avoided. It took Mr. Potter's pleas to jolt us from our complacency in the success of our wards. It shouldn't have been necessary. Any talented ward breaker would be able to find them, and we knew the Ministry would not allow the orphans to slip away silently."

Miss Granger was getting increasingly worked up. As she prepared to continue arguing, a flash of fire announced the arrival of Fawkes. The phoenix settled himself on the back of a chair and sang soothingly.

Severus stubbornly resisted the effects but Miss Granger noticeably relaxed. He decided to ignore them both and Fawkes soon subsided with an indignant squawk. He tried to read. Until she approached and lay a hand on his shoulder.

"You've gathered a group of remarkable people together to fight for what is right and good," she said. "You've led them to do extraordinary things. You saved me. You saved Sarah, and Colin and Dennis. And Jessica and Terrence and Cheryl. And every other orphan, every other witch and wizard that is at 12 Grimmauld Place right now. I am grateful for what you've done, what you're doing. And so are they. And I know we'll accomplish more, but I know it will take time. And when we're done, the innocent in Azkaban will be free and Wizarding Britain won't need to fear their government. We'll do it. I'm sure of it."

"Your youthful optimism is far more remarkable than anything I've done," he said.

But a sliver of tension had left him, and Severus reluctantly felt more hopeful than he had in some time.

* * *

**A/N:** Love it? Hate it? I'd love to know. :) Thanks for the reviews, yall.


	17. Step 17

**Step 17**

* * *

"Mr. Snape, Mr. Dumbledore," she greeted the older wizards.

It was to be the start of another long evening pouring over dry manuscripts, the only remarkable thing about that night's meeting being Mr. Snape's early arrival.

Mr. Snape grunted a greeting while Mr. Dumbledore gave her a broad smile. Fawkes, perched on the back of Mr. Snape's chair, gave her a happy chirp before he returned to his preening.

"Don't you think it's time you call me Albus, my dear?" the older wizard asked. Hermione's eyes widened.

For a moment she stood frozen just inside the entryway. Call the former minister by his first name? It seemed so disrespectful! But if he requested it of her…

"If you'd like… Albus," she said uncertainly.

Mr. Dumble-_Albus_ nodded with a smile and turned to look at Mr. Snape expectantly. Her gaze followed, watching the wizard pour over an old scroll with anxiety. Just because _Albus_ asked that she use his first name didn't mean that she expected the same invitation from Mr. Snape. She would never _assume_...

Mr. Snape continued on, oblivious to their questioning gazes. She sighed and finally took a seat.

"And of course you can call me Hermione," she told Albus. "Any luck today?"

The former minister updated her on an interesting finding in a 16th century treatise on tracking spells, and thus began another quiet evening at work. For a time, the reason for their research and the chaos of the outside world could retreat to the back of her mind.

* * *

Hermione took every opportunity to escape the crowded townhouse at Grimmauld Place. When she wasn't at Order Headquarters researching, that meant slipping out the front door and exploring the muggle world.

Each time she grew more confident and ventured farther. Hermione became used to the noisy carriages that sped along the streets (although she was careful not to get in their way.) She still received some strange looks but the muggles had yet to bother her

Until one morning she sat on a park bench watching the people pass. Muggle watching had become one of her favorite activities. They were so interesting.

"A little early for Halloween," a man muttered in her general direction, using a small device to light his cigarette as he stood hovering nearby over a rubbish bin.

As muggles went, he was one of the more strange-looking she had yet to encounter. A very large man, but otherwise ordinary if it weren't for the colorful designs decorating his skin everywhere it was exposed.

"Pardon?" she stammered. He nodded briefly at her clothing, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"The costume. Or you some kind of religious type or something?"

When she could only give him a puzzled stare in response, the man shrugged carelessly and continued on his way. Hermione examined her robes self-consciously and again looked at the muggles' clothing.

She did stick out a bit, didn't she? Maybe it would be better to try and blend in.

Having seen a shop front with clothing just a few blocks away, Hermione quickly made her way there. She eyed the still figures of the mannequins in the window nervously as she entered. It was strange to see them so lifeless and unanimated. Unnatural.

A bell rang quietly as the door opened, and Hermione slowly perused the items on the racks. The shop attendant was the store's only other occupant, and the woman seemed more interested in reading a magazine than assisting customers.

She took her time examining the clothes, trying to decide which of the strange fashions she could most tolerate. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to rely on layered tailoring charms, she also tried to estimate which would best fit.

Gathering a few pairs of pants in an unfamiliar material and a couple of tops, she moved to the changing room and tried them on. Quickly deciding on one of each, she brought them to the counter.

"Will that be everything, then?" the young woman asked, clearly not caring either way.

Hermione nodded.

"20 quid."

With a frown, she dug into her pockets to find her coin purse, pulling out a handful of galleons.

"Umm…" Twenty seemed an awful lot for one outfit. Hermione wasn't sure she'd even have enough. Was it worth it?

The other woman looked at the coins with a frown.

"20 _pounds_. I can't take foreign currency. You don't have any sterling?" The muggle sighed. "There's a bank down the street, you can probably exchange it there."

Face bright red, Hermione pocketed her galleons and muttered an apology. She left the store and hurried back to Grimmauld Place, full of embarrassment.

She hadn't even considered that they would have different money! So stupid!

Hermione didn't venture out again for several days, not until she managed to transfigure a proper outfit for herself while at Headquarters.

* * *

"Hmm…"

The uncharacteristic noise coming from Mr. Snape drew both Hermione and Albus's interest.

"Something interesting?" Albus questioned.

Mr. Snape continued to stare at the parchment with furrowed brows, unmoving. A long moment passed.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"I think…" he began slowly, voice oddly soft. "I think I've found it."

"_It_?" she mimicked excitedly, drawing closer to peer over his shoulder. "What do you mean by 'it?' …As in, '_it'_ it?"

"What have you found, Severus?"

Mr. Snape's expression slowly grew into a small smile.

"The answer."

* * *

It wasn't the exact spell that they needed laid out right on the page. But the answer that Mr. Snape found was answer enough that the spell modification was very simple after that. Only days later, they had a working charm.

Hermione couldn't wait to share it with the rest of the Order. In the hours leading up to the next meeting, she could hardly stop fidgeting and smiling. It took all her restraint not to shout it out at each Order member as they arrived. When Harry came through the door, she couldn't hold it back any longer.

"We did it!" Hermione squealed, tackling the wary boy with a hug, all previous anger forgotten. She ignored the Weasleys who accompanied him, didn't even notice that Ron was there as well.

"Great." Harry said faintly with a puzzled frown. "Did what, exactly?"

"Why don't we wait until everyone is gathered for explanations?" Albus commented from the open doorway of the meeting room, smiling.

Hermione shrugged sheepishly.

"The tracking spell, Harry! But I suppose the details _can_ wait."

She finally noticed Ron standing awkwardly just inside the entryway.

"Oh! Hi, Ron," she greeted with a polite smile. The redhead's face flushed and he waved in return. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

The older wizard and witch returned her greeting, and everyone soon bustled into the meeting room to await the gathering's start.

A good amount of time passed as they waited, and the clock ticked past the intended start time. Mr. Snape was still nowhere to be seen, and the hushed conversations grew louder as everyone speculated where he might be. Mr. Snape was never late.

Hermione began to fidget in her seat as the waiting dragged on and still he was absent. Had something happened? Was he arrested? Dead!?

Her anxiety built up higher and higher, and just when she thought she might stand up and demand a search party be sent out—

The front door opened and then closed. Two sets of footsteps approached, and Mr. Snape's frame became visible in the doorway. Beside him was a man whom Hermione had never met, but instantly knew on sight.

There was a confused hush for one second, two, and then chaos. Half the witches and wizards in the room began to shout their objections, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley most vocal among them.

That face, that hair. That regal bearing, fine clothing, and carefully-crafted sneer… Malfoy. If this wizard were anything like his son, it was no wonder that half the room was against him.

"Enough!" Mr. Snape shouted over all the noise, and silence fell. A few petulant glares were directed toward the door. "Mr. Malfoy has passed the same test, and will take the same vow as all of us. Whatever your opinion of his character, he is our ally and will be treated with respect."

"Severus…" Normally quiet and composed, Mr. Weasley's face was muddled red and twisted with anger. "We trust you. But we don't trust _him_. I expect to hear some damned good reasons for his being here."

"_Charming_," the man in question drawled, sneer still firmly in place. "You all certainly know how to make a wizard feel welcome."

"Lucius," Mr. Snape said firmly, "Please. Tolerance will be needed on both sides."

The blonde wizard sniffed derisively and conjured himself a seat at the table, one so ostentatious it was more throne than chair. He sat, and Mr. Weasley repeated to the room at large,

"Damned good reasons."

Mr. Snape sighed and found his own chair at the head of the table.

"Lucius, if you'd please, for the sake of peace…"

Mr. Malfoy sighed and flourished his cane dramatically before setting it in his lap.

"For the sake of peace, I suppose I can be the better man on this occasion," he said.

Hermione swore she saw Mr. Weasley snarl.

"It's quite obvious, really. I look after my own interests, you see, and at the moment yours and mine align very neatly. The previous regime was unpleasant-" here he gave a nod to Albus in the corner, who returned it cordially, "-and this one is simply intolerable. Something must be done."

He gave a shark-like grin.

"That, and Narcissa just loves her charity projects. A bunch of orphans and underdogs, it was inevitable that my darling wife would want to sponsor you. And where my money goes…"

Mr. Malfoy shrugged.

"Well, I like to keep an eye on my investments."

Many eyes turned to Mr. Snape in question, who nodded his confirmation.

"The Malfoys have been generous with their support, without which I'm uncertain we could have even kept the children fed."

The grumbling was significantly lessened after that, although the wary glares continued.

"But we can express our gratitude after the meeting," Mr. Snape said, "When we induct him and young Mr. Weasley into the Order. For now, we must discuss the developments on our tracking charm. Miss Granger?"

Hermione flushed as all eyes turned to her. Grinning widely, she stood to address the Order.

"Yes. I'm very happy to announce that we've constructed a tracking charm for the purposes of hunting down the Minister's horcruxes. All that's needed is a small imprint of the target's soul, such as a photograph-"

She held up a photo of Harry taken in their second year and cast their modified charm on it. Hermione felt a strong tugging, and allowed it to lead her toward her friend in order to lessen the sensation before cancelling it all together.

"-and you'll be guided to the strongest matching imprint or soul fragment that is nearby. You can use the animus revelo charm to confirm the match. The range is about half a mile. Naturally, you shouldn't cast it if you know that the Minister is nearby as you may be led to _him_ rather than the horcrux."

Hermione spent a few minutes reviewing the incantation, "animam pors venetio," and the wand work needed before returning to her seat.

"Thank you, Miss Granger." Mr. Snape gave her a nod and reserved smile before addressing the room at large. "Now that we have the means, I expect us all to take the time when possible to conduct a discrete search for the Minister's horcruxes.

"I've devised a map of Walled areas that need to be searched and by who, which I'd like you all to look at after the meeting. If anyone finds an item suspected of being a horcrux, you _must_ leave it where it is and we'll devise the means to destroy it at another time. These are extremely dangerous, dark artifacts and should be handled with great caution. There could be any number of harmful curses protecting them."

Murmured agreements.

"It is important that we prevent the Minister's return by finding and destroying these artifacts. However, more pertinent to our immediate problem is the issue of how to ensure that he does, in fact, fall. Auror Shacklebolt has devised a plan to draw the auror's main forces from the Ministry so that we can stage our... coups d'etat, such as it is. Kingsley?"

The auror spoke from his corner of the room. Though he spoke quietly, no one made a sound as they listened and every word was heard.

He described a plan that divided the Order's forces in two, one team creating a disturbance in Hogsmeade that would draw the attention of the aurors and essentially lead them on a goose chase through the city. The second team slipping in through the weakened security of the Ministry and targeting the Minister himself.

It painted a grim picture, and Hermione imagined all those who might get caught in the crossfire. Civillians in Hogsmeade, employees and visitors at the Ministry. It would be brutal.

"Any thoughts?" Mr. Snape asked.

A few seconds passed before Ron's hand tentatively rose a few inches into the air. The redhead looked around shiftily, eyebrows furrowed.

"Mr. Weasley?" Mr. Snape called on him, seemingly bemused at his discomfort.

"Yeah- Um, is there any reason we need to take down the Ministry?" Ron asked, and then quickly added, "I mean, er, the building. Do we need the building? Or is the Minister our goal?"

"There are a number of key players and useful resources located in the Ministry itself," Mr. Snape said, "However I believe our primary target at this time should be the Minister. He is the driving force behind the abhorrent policies of late."

"So, um, why not just… draw him out?" Ron asked with a shrug. "No reason to throw yourself in the way of a bludger if the quaffle can come to you."

"That… is not a bad idea," Mr. Snape admitted, frowning, and Hermione thought he might just be annoyed he didn't think of it himself. "We'd need to find the ideal grounds to defend, and sufficient bait. From what we know, he rarely if ever leaves the Ministry."

"Hogwarts would do, wouldn't it?" Ron proposed. "Plenty'a space, no one 'round in the summer. I mean, blimey, it is a _castle_. You can't pick a better place to set a trap."

The whole of the Order of the Phoenix was struck dumb, staring at the unassuming young wizard with astonishment.

The worst of it was, Hermione mused, that it seemed completely obvious given any thought at all. And yet they were so stuck on overcoming the Ministry itself that it took _Ron_ to point out the more reasonable option…

The redhead began to flush being at the center of their silent attention. He hunched his tall frame over slightly and mumbled,

"I mean, yeah? It could work, couldn't it?"

"It's brilliant!" Harry said, with the most genuine smile that Hermione had seen from him in ages. He turned to Mr. Snape. "We'll do it, won't we?"

"There are some details to work out," the Order's leader said, exchanging a glace with Auror Shacklebolt-who gave him a nod. "However your idea has merit. Staging an ambush on easily defensible ground with our full force backing it… Yes, it could work. We will need to reach out to the Headmistress and find some way to make sure that the Minister comes personally."

"Perhaps something or some_one_ he desperately needs," came Mr. Malfoy's contribution, and the wizard met Albus's eyes across the room.

"Or is desperate not to lose," the former minister added serenely.

* * *

Soon the meeting broke up while many checked the map for their assigned horcrux-search area, practiced the tracking charm, or simply chatted and made their way to the other room to witness the Vows.

But before that—

"Mr. Potter, a word?" Serverus called across the room, and the young wizard pulled away from his two friends to approach hesitantly.

"…Yes? Um, sir?" Lily's eyes looked at him warily from James's features. And rather than feel anger or regret, Severus just felt sad. Sad that two extraordinary people were now gone from the world, leaving this boy alone without family.

"I wanted to thank you," Severus said, shaking away his melancholy. "For your recommendation of young Mr. Weasley. It seems his input was indeed very beneficial."

Mr. Potter smiled widely.

"I knew it would be! Ron has a good head for quidditch and chess, and I know those are just games and this is real life but, well, strategy is strategy, right?"

"So it seems," Severus acknowledged, and looked at the boy searchingly for a moment. "Mr. Potter…"

"Sir?"

"You are unusually confident, or unusually stubborn, for such a young wizard. After the past few weeks, I can't help but wonder if there's some reason behind it."

"I think the confidence came my from my dad's side, the stubborn is all mum though…" Mr. Potter joked with a weak smile, and Severus found his own lips twitching reluctantly.

"Indeed. But in all seriousness, you seem to have an uncanny intuition. Do you frequently find that you… 'know' things, before they happen?"

The young wizard looked puzzled.

"Like, divination?" he asked skeptically. "Er… I don't know about that. I was rubbish at it in class. I mean, I guess there's lots of things I'm right about. Sometimes people say I'm crazy but I usually turn out to be right in the end."

Severus nodded.

"I would think on it. Sometimes a wizard can have some small natural talent for divination, forgotten dreams perhaps, that comes through in what appears to be mere luck, intuition, or coincidence. If you ever feel completely certain of something, as you did before your parents…"

Severus trailed off uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

"Well, I… regret not listening then and don't want to repeat the mistake. Please let me know and I will be sure to take you seriously."

Mr. Potter nodded gratefully and lowered his watering eyes.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Severus shifted for a moment before nodding in return.

"Mr. Potter," he acknowledged and made his way to the other room for the induction ceremony. From the corner of his eye he saw Miss Granger and the Weasley boy quickly take his place beside Mr. Potter, expressing their curiosity and concern.

Without family now, yes, but at least Severus could take comfort in the fact that the young wizard would not be alone.

* * *

The next few weeks passed very quickly for Severus.

With the new tracking charm in their repertoire, several horcruxes were found in quick succession. A locket worn by Bellatrix Lestrange, an unknown item held inside the Mulciber vault at Gringotts, an unnaturally large snake that the Minister had begun keeping beside him lately, and now…

Severus had just left a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall at Hogwarts, where she'd disclosed the location of another horcrux, this one found inside Hogwarts. The only one they'd reasonably be able to get their hands on anytime soon. A diadem, but not any ordinary diadem: Ravenclaw's diadem, which had been lost for centuries until Riddle found it, defiled it with dark magic, and hid it away again.

Thoughts and plans danced in his mind as he contemplated how he might use this discovery. It could very possibly be the bait they'd been searching for…

He opened the door to the study at Headquarters and found his thoughts derailed when he spotted Miss Granger. She was sitting in one of the armchairs and staring despondently at a small piece of paper.

"Miss Granger?" he prompted with some concern. The young witch didn't even twitch in response.

"Mr. Snape. Hello," she responded absently.

"Are you quite all right?" Severus asked and approached slowly to peer over her shoulder.

Two names, an address, and a list of numbers he couldn't make heads or tails of were written on the paper. _Oh._

"How did you find them?" he questioned, astonished. She couldn't have accessed the records at the Ministry…

"There are a lot of libraries in London," Miss Granger responded quietly, "Large collections of information to sort through, and lots of friendly people willing to help. Obituaries, directories… It turned out to be pretty simple, actually."

"…and what do you intend to do with this information?" Severus asked her cautiously.

Finally she looked up, and he saw that her eyes were swollen, her face streaked red with dried tears.

"Would you-will you come with me, please? To see them? Just once. I'd like to see them once, before… in case…"

"In case the worst should happen?" he finished for her. "In case you die in this upcoming conflict?"

She nodded, visibly restraining more tears.

"Could you see them without ever speaking to them? Without telling them who you are?" he prompted quietly. "Without reaching out and taking them in your arms, saying that you love them despite never having known them?"

"I have to-!" she interjected.

"In case the worst should happen," he reminded her, "Is it fair to give your parents a glimpse of the daughter they might have known, only for them to suffer losing you a second time?"

"But-" Her face scrunched up further. Severus took the young witch by the hand and guided her to stand in front of him.

"Miss Grang-_Hermione_," he said firmly. "When this is over, I will stand with you every second you need my support. I will personally escort you to their front door. But right now… I couldn't stand to be that cruel to you or your parents."

Unable to suppress the sobs any longer, Hermione muffled her crying into his chest. Severus tentatively put his arms around her in comfort as she clutched at his robes.

Minutes passed before she was able to pull away and regain some composure.

"Is it fair not to give them the choice?" she said quietly. "To choose if they'll risk losing me twice? But… nothing about this has been fair from the beginning. And you're right, doing it now could just bring them more misery."

She gave him a wobbly smile.

"But after-?"

Severus put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"After."

"Thank you, I really… thank you."

"Of course."

Hermione swiped her hands across her cheeks with a rueful laugh, tucking away the slip of paper into her robes for the promised "after."

"Um, if you'll excuse me, I'll just-"

"Yes!" Severus stepped back and allowed her to pass, presumably about to go freshen her face. She stopped at the door.

"I… think I forget, sometimes, to realize. To thank you, for everything you've done over the years. There's so much…" Hermione turned back for a moment to give him a smile that shone brightly through her tears and heartbreak. "You've done so much, and I appreciate it. Thank you."

He gave a slight bow in acknowledgement of her gratitude, touched and uncertain.

"Of course."

* * *

**A/N:** Endless apologies, etc, etc. I've finally buckled down and finished a rough draft, just a couple more chapters now. It may not be quite as epic as I once imagined it, but at this point I'd rather just bring this story to a close. I hope you still enjoy it.

Though I'm poor at expressing it by responding, I greatly appreciate every comment. Thank you for sticking with me. Next chapter coming soon.


	18. Step 18

**Step 18**

* * *

"Are there any objections?"

Severus looked around at the gathered members of the Order of the Phoenix. Few of them were warriors, but soon they would all be called on to defend their values and convictions with their lives.

He'd just finished describing the details of their plan to entrap Minister Voldemort, and many faces were looking grim and wan. Even Fawkes was less than his usual glorious self, his feathers dull and drooping. It was not a scene that inspired confidence.

"It's a good plan," young Mr. Weasley said, and Mr. Potter spoke up as well.

"It's going to work," he said confidently. Severus saw the firm belief in his eyes and was heartened.

There were no objections. Severus pressed forward.

"The Headmistress will be making the announcement to the Daily Prophet in the morning, and we will all head to the castle and prepare. It's possible that the Minister will accept the invitation and attend the 'unveiling' on Sunday, but we believe it more likely that he will arrive unannounced sometime sooner with an escort of aurors. We will have little warning so we must be prepared."

This announcement was met without pleasure.

"However, we have the advantage," Severus reiterated. "He is expecting a few teachers, instead he will be met with the full force of the Order of the Phoenix. Should there be any injuries, the Hogwarts infirmary is fully stocked nearby, and I have prepared a number of healing and restorative supplies to be distributed among us.

Once Minister Voldemort has fallen, the rest of the Ministry is sure to follow. Then we can recover and destroy the remaining horcrux in Gringotts… and release those who are wrongfully detained in Azkaban."

That reminder served to bolster some, their faced hardening with determination.

"Success is finally at hand, the culmination of everything we've worked toward. We all have the evening to make our personal preparations. Tomorrow morning be ready to go to Hogwarts.

"Meeting adjourned."

After a moment those gathered began to stand and converse quietly. And some not so quietly…

"I don't know about you," Dorcas said loudly to the wizard beside her, "But seeing as this may be my last night on this earth, I'm going to have a strong drink or three. Care to join?"

Several chuckles sounded, and the tense atmosphere in the room lessened slightly.

Some approached Severus to bid him goodnight, but mostly he observed silently. The friendships and the family, the comforts and the sorrows. Indeed, it could be his last night living.

If so, he was content to spend it in the present company.

* * *

Severus was overseeing the distribution of supplies in the Great Hall when he realized she was absent. He pocketed some, delegated his leadership, and then went in search. Predictably, he found her in the library.

Hermione sat at a table near the entrance, but rather than read… she appeared to contemplate the scene around her.

"I've spent so much time reading, but I can't remember the last time I read for pleasure rather than fear," she admitted with a sad smile. "Always researching, desperate to find a solution in books and scrolls. But not every answer can be found in a book. You taught me that."

"It was still worth the search, I think," he told her, taking a seat beside her. Severus placed a number of small vials and containers on the table in front of her.

"Your supplies, since you decided to wander off and missed the meeting," he chided without any real heat. He lifted one tiny vial and placed it in her hand. "Phoenix tears, the most potent restorative in the world. Not as good as fresh, but still powerful. Fawkes was able to provide a few doses."

Hermione smiled and laid her other hand over his.

"Thank you."

"Hmm. Make certain you won't need it."

"I'll do my best."

"Ready to join the others?"

"Yes."

* * *

They arrived at the Great Hall and were drawn in with curiosity. A large group was gathered around one table, a few turned to note them enter.

"I'm so sorry, Severus," Mr. Fenwick said, looking genuinely distressed. "I'm afraid Fawkes, er…"

He gestured at a pile of ashes on the tables, and they could hear a faint warbling. An ugly little baby bird lay nesting in the remains of a once-glorious phoenix. Hermione cooed and came closer. The poor thing was so ugly he was cute.

"His death day, is it? Not very good timing," Mr. Snape said, sighing.

"Or perhaps fortuitous," Albus countered, scratching the newborn Fawkes on his tiny, bald head. "An omen, if you will. Today he is reborn, and so might be the world."

"Omens are great and all, but he won't be much use like this," Mr. Fenwick said ruefully.

"Indeed. I do hope we won't have need his services. However," Albus looked at them all intently, as if there were great wisdom to be gleaned from his cryptic words. "If ever in need we can always seek refuge at Hog's Head,"

Hog's Head? Wasn't that a seedy old bar in central Hogsmeade? Hermione shook her head. Powerful wizard he might be, but Albus Dumbledore was more than a bit strange.

Their discussion was interrupted by the arrival of a patronus. A lynx. Everyone in the room hushed and waited fearfully. It spoke to the room at large with Auror Shacklebolt's voice.

"We're coming. Be ready."

* * *

Hermione stood at her post, gripping her wand tightly. Near her were Ron and Harry, with a few more experienced fighters interspersed. Stationed on either side of the corridor leading out of the entry hall, they were the last line of defense. Instructed to stay out of the thick of things, to observe and take down any aurors who might manage to make it through.

They waited in silence, hearts beating madly in anticipation.

The news of the diadem's discovery at Hogwarts had reached Minister Voldemort quickly after the press release was sent out. His invitation to tomorrow's unveiling of the "historical and cultural find of the century" was ignored, and instead he would soon be arriving with his aurors in tow to take the diadem from the school. By force, if necessary.

But they were ready. They had the advantage. They would prevail.

The sound of an explosion reached Hermione's ears and the ground shook slightly beneath her feet. It had begun.

Hermione took a deep breath and prayed to any gods willing to listen that they might make it through alive.

* * *

Severus cursed as an explosion of magic ripped a hole in the castle's wards. The flash and resulting shockwave no doubt stunned their forces in the vicinity, and it might cost them their lives.

They had thought the Minister would need to call down Minerva to open the gate. They hadn't counted on him having the ability to tear through the wards. They hadn't counted on him being prepared to fight from the first moment of arrival. They had underestimated his paranoia.

From his position at the castle's entrance he could see lines of aurors enter Hogwarts grounds with wands drawn and he cursed again.

He shot a flare of bright red magic into the sky to signal an immediate retreat to the castle. Their advantage of "surprise" was gone. Order members volleyed spells with the aurors as they fell back on foot, others members taking to the air on brooms to protect their comrades' retreat.

Unable to assist from so far, he watched with spell-enhanced vision as aurors flooded the grounds. More than they'd hoped, but they would manage. They would still succeed.

Except… he examined each face. They weren't perfectly clear, but it was clear to him that none of the invading figures were Minister Voldemort.

Severus cursed louder, before his attention was caught by a set of garish robes making their way—not toward the castle—but toward the gates.

Dumbledore. If Dumbledore was heading to the gates… Voldemort had be outside them. And Voldemort had to be defeated, or this venture would be for naught.

Casting a quick glance over the Order members on the grounds, he was satisfied that they would make it to the castle safely. Severus mounted the sleek, new (illegally powerful) broom purchased with Malfoy money and sped toward the gates, dodging spells as he went.

Passing through the hole in the wards was like flying into a lightning storm. A storm fueled by the might of two wizards: Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Severus had to quickly roll and dive to avoid stray hexes as they flashed through the sky. Crash landing on the ground just beyond the dueling pair, he lay flat and cast a shield, looking for an opening in the Minister's defenses.

It didn't come, but he let fly some spells anyway. They were tossed aside with ease, without even a glance, and the Minister laughed.

"You're getting slow in your old age, Albus," Voldemort hissed with an unnaturally wide grin, red eyes gleaming madly. His next curse sent Dumbledore stumbling to the ground trying to dodge it.

"And you're as delightful a dueling partner as ever, Tom," Albus responded, panting.

There was brief ceasefire as the two opponents regarded each other. Severus waited to see if the Minister's wand would lower even a fraction.

"Is it everything you ever dreamed of, being Minister?" Albus asked him from his disadvantaged position. His serene expression didn't falter. "Are you finally satisfied?"

"Not quite," was the Minister's response. "Not while one barrier remains to be torn down."

"I see. You can't yet purge your muggle 'taint?'"

"You dare-!"

It was over in an instant. Severus sent of a hex that was quickly dispatched, but it created an opening for Dumbledore to get in a smashing spell that obliterated Voldemort's dueling arm. The timing was just right to send Voldemort's severing charm flying wide… but not wide enough.

The Minister swore and retrieved his wand with his remaining hand, glaring at them hatefully

"I will recover, thought it seems you won't be so lucky, Albus. My only regret is that I must miss your final moments."

His red eyes slid over Severus like he was an unimportant piece of background foliage.

"If there _is_ an afterlife," came the parting shot, "please do give my regards to Gellert."

As the snake-like man rose on a fine, dark mist into the sky and flew away, Severus scrambled to Dumbledore's side. The amount of blood seeping from the large slice in the older wizard's neck seemed a poor sign and he cursed once again.

He began to fetch various healing potions from his supply, wishing he hadn't given away all the phoenix tears, and Albus whispered a thready, "Stop."

"It seems to have missed the common carotid, thank Merlin, but we don't have much time—"

"**Severus**," Dumbledore said, and then gasped harshly, "Please, stop. I must die."

"I know you're dotty about omens and fate, and likely depressed after Grindelwald's murder, but this is not the moment-"

"_I m-must_!" he insisted, shallow breaths gurgling. Severus continued his attempt at hasty aid. "The wards! The Wall. After- after Gellert, I tied them to my life. I gave my life to keep," gasp, "To keep Tom from the world and now—now, give my death to free you." Severus froze. Dumbledore gave a rattling sigh as blood continued to gush from the wound. "Please, Severus."

"You idiot!" Severus cried, "Why would you-?" He grit his teeth with frustration and helplessness. If the wards around Wizarding Britain were tied to Dumbledore's life, they would not fall unless Dumbledore were dead. No matter the outcome with Voldemort, they would all still be effectively trapped by the Wall if he lived. The only means of passing through would be the few authorized floos or when personally escorted by the wizard himself. Horribly inconvenient, but not impossible...

"Fine. _Fine._ So we'll just be stuck for a few more years. A few decades at most. We've made it this long. It's not worth-"

"_Please_, Sev-Severus," Albus breathed. "Let me fix m-my mistake."

Severus stood with an inarticulate cry of rage. Dumbledore's pleading face was burned into his vision. This foolish suicide was due to _guilt,_ then?

"Damnit! You're forgiven, you bastard!"

Albus brought his lips together as if to beg again, and Severus turned away. There was a battle to be won and he couldn't spend all evening arguing with a man who refused to accept his help.

"_You're forgiven!_"

Severus mounted his broom and shot into the sky as the sun began to set, racing toward the castle and a secret side entrance Minerva had shown him. The harsh wind ripped away his tears as soon as they fell.

Severus left Dumbledore to die, knowing he could have saved him.

He may as well have killed the man himself.

* * *

Severus stormed into the entry hall, robes billowing, his expression one of rage and fierce determination.

A number of Order members, Kingsley among them, were continuously resetting the wards set on the front doors even as they were being torn down by the aurors on the other side. The rest were tending the wounded, wounded themselves, or hovering anxiously waiting for orders.

"Plan 'B!'" he shouted, and several people around him flinched, startled. "We still have the advantage on the aurors. As the defenders of this hall, we can take them out as they enter. I do not doubt that we will overcome them."

When he paused in speaking, there was only the muffled sounds of the aurors outside and the muttering incantations of the ward-casters.

"_Voldemort_, however… Voldemort, true to character, is acting the coward and has removed himself from the battle. We will send out a team to track him down, and to kill him.

"Potter," he barked, and the young wizard stepped forward with a frown.

"Mr. Snape?"

"How many people can fit under your invisibility cloak?"

"Uh, I'd say two, sir. Two adults fully covered."

"Kingsley," Severus said, "You're with me. Potter, the cloak if you'd please."

Mr. Potter hesitated as he retrieved it with a frown, and then shook his head, gripping the cloak tightly.

"No! I won't, you can't. I-I'll go with you."

Severus sighed.

"Mr. Po-_Harry,_ there's no need to play the hero and get yourself killed. Auror Shacklebolt is far more qualified to handle this."

"I know, but- I have to do this. It's like, sir-" his bright green eyes pleaded with me to understand. "It's like I _know_. I have to do this. Please."

Severus closed his eyes with a groan. Gods damn these people and their pleas. But he promised he'd listen, and if by some chance the boy was right…

"Very well then," he said, ignoring the vocal protests of those around him. "_Potter_ is with me. Kingsley, you have command. Send the unconscious to the infirmary and the injured but capable to the far corridor. Prepare the rest to open the doors."

As Kingsley began to corral the masses and gain control, Severus and Harry made to head further into the castle. As they passed Hermione, she gave them each a shaky smile and a hug and bid them to "be safe."

But before they crossed the threshold into the next corridor, Severus paused. He turned on his heel.

"Order of the Phoenix!" he said, and again there was a respectful silence. "Today is the day our nation is reborn. From our sacrifices and struggles a new world will emerge, where we need not fear our Ministry or those who should be protecting us. I thank each of you for your dedication to the Order, and I'll see you all on the other side of victory."

Cheers echoing behind them, Severus and Harry swept down the corridor toward the hidden exit.

Off to meet their destinies, Severus mused grimly.

* * *

As the better flier, Harry cast the tracking charm and led the broom. Seated behind, Severus kept the cloak covering them and an eye out for enemies.

After flying about the edge of the grounds for nearly twenty minutes, Harry whispered,

"Got it," and steered them deeper above the Forbidden Forest. After a time, Harry lowered them into the branches and brought the broom to the edge of a clearing and stopped midair.

Before them was Auror Bellatrix Lestrange, Minister Voldemort, and a giant snake floating in a protective, magical shield behind him.

"No, my lord. Not yet," the mad witch simpered regretfully. "But I'm certain that soon-!"

"It doesn't matter," Voldemort sneered, "I'll have it back even if I have to slaughter every one of them myself."

"Of course, my lord, you-"

"Silence. Return to the others. If it looks like the fools won't manage, notify me and I will do it myself."

"Yes, my lord! Right away!"

Bellatrix lowered her head and backed away quickly, turning to obey.

Harry made to start flying into the clearing, but Severus whispered,

"Stop. Follow Lestrange."

Without a word, Harry turned as well and they shadowed the auror through the woods, flying low to the ground.

When Severus felt they were far enough from Voldemort, he carefully aimed his wand at Bellatrix's throat…

A blood-red flash, a thud, and the witch was down. Severus dismounted and approached with fallen auror stoically. Examining the injury and confirming she was dead, he cast animus revelo on an old poster he had in his pocket.

The blood-covered locket around her neck began to glow. A horcrux indeed.

"We'll leave it here until Voldemort and the snake are dealt with," he said. If... when they succeeded, they could take it back to Hogwarts and destroy it as they had the diadem. "No need to make it easy for him should we fail by taking it with us."

The hood of his cloak lowered, Harry nodded, his face looking a bit pale and sickly. But at that moment Severus didn't feel much like trying to comfort the young wizard. Death and murder were gruesome and vile. No way to sugar-coat it.

"Come."

They got back on the broom and under the invisibility cloak. They quietly returned to the moonlit clearing.

Voldemort stood with the snake floating beside him, contemplating the stars. His back was to them.

Well. This was it. No time like the present.

"Now."

Severus slid from the broom with a roll, firing a deadly curse at the Minister's back. With preternatural speed, Voldemort turned and deflected it, casting his own spell in response. It hit the empty air where they had flown only a split second before. Though disadvantaged for having lost his dueling arm, the Minister was still a deadly opponent.

"You pest!" Voldemort hissed.

Spells and counter-spells were fired and parried, Severus darting around the clearing. Until he raised a shield in response to a particular flick of Voldemort's wand…

But it wasn't a hex or curse Voldemort had cast. The giant snake, thrashing, removed from its magical cage, was flung toward Severus. Hit his shield, slid down—and sank its large fangs deep into the meat of his thigh.

His knees buckled as Severus let out a cry of pain. He cast a blasting curse at the snake and its body exploded, leaving only the head attached to his leg by its jaws.

"Damn you!" Voldemort snarled to see his snake destroyed. Shouldn't have used it as a projectile weapon, then. Dunderhead.

Severus pried the snake's head from his flesh and tossed it away, but it was too late. Whatever kind of snake it was, it was clearly venomous. He could feel an alternating numbness and burning…

Voldemort raised his wand once more, preparing a final spell-

"Expelliarmus!"

In that moment, Harry revealed his presence with a simple disarmament charm. Despite managing to catch the Minister by surprise, the wand left its wizard's hand for only a moment before Voldemort wordlessly summoned it back and continued casting with a hissing snarl.

Still cloaked, Harry darted around the clearing on his broom, rapidly firing off spells. Voldemort was forced on the defensive, unable to clearly target his opponent and growing more frustrated by the moment. Though he managed to successfully deflect every attack, it seemed a stalemate.

Severus weakly tried to lift his wand to cast, but his arm felt a hundred times heavier than normal and he could barely raise it an inch.

One of Voldemort's hexes managed to land on the tail of Harry's broom, sending him spinning to a crash landing on the forest floor. Quickly standing, the young wizard raised his wand and stood to face his enemy.

The hood of his cloak had slipped down and the rest was twisted around his torso and legs, revealing strange sections of body interspersed with gaps of seemingly empty space. Visible enough to be a clear target.

There was a brief moment as the two opponents squared off, narrowed eyes meeting in taut silence.

In sync, their wands lifted and they cast. A flash of red from Harry's wand, and a flash of green from Voldemort's. The spells met in the middle and connected with a sharp crack and a shockwave of golden flames that would have knocked Severus off his feet if he weren't already immobile on the ground.

Maybe it was the pain and blood loss, but Severus could have sworn he saw the two spells pause in the midair before red overtook green and the golden flames sped toward Voldemort.

He struggled to keep his eyes open, but in vain. They fell shut and he was faced with darkness and agony. What could have been minutes or hours passed before a feminine voice cut through the haze, only for a moment.

"Mr. Snape? …Oh, Merlin! S-Severus? _Severus_!"

The moment passed, and then . . . black.


	19. Step 19

**Step 19**

* * *

When Severus next opened his eyes, he saw nothing but darkness. For a brief moment he feared he'd gone blind.

Then his vision began to adjust to the slight variations in light, he saw a faint glow outlining curtains and realized that it was simply night.

Everything in his body seemed to ache. Everything but for one leg which seemed entirely numb.

Groaning and fumbling around, Severus tried to locate his wand and managed instead to knock a glass of water from the nightstand to the floor and shatter it.

Damn. Water would have been divine for his parched throat.

Footsteps sounded, approaching the room quickly before the door was thrown open.

"Mr. Snape?" Hermione's voice called with concern. "_Lumos_,"

The room's sconces lit with flame, and though it did nothing for his headache he could then see his surroundings. A small derelict bedroom with dust and peeling paint, he did not recognize it. It contained a bed, a nightstand, an armoire, and an armchair in the corner where he could see an infantile Fawkes resting in a makeshift nest. Silhouetted in the doorway stood the young witch's bedraggled form.

"Oh-!" Hermione quickly cleared the mess, mending and refilling the glass with water and placing it in his hands.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Snape?" she asked as he took a few small sips. His hands were trembling and a little spilled down his chin. He let it dribble, embarrassed but feeling too weak to care. And after everything, she was still calling him Mr. Snape?

"For Merlin's sake, my name is Severus," he said moodily when he was done, shutting his eyes against the glaring light. "And I feel like shite, thanks for asking."

Silence. He grimaced. She was only trying to be polite and there he was being a bastard in return.

"I apologize. Thank you for the water."

"You're welcome, Severus," Hermione told him quietly. She took the glass from his hands and returned it to the nightstand. When he opened his eyes again he saw that she was unfazed by his surliness, looking sad and worried instead of hurt.

"Well, it seems I missed some things by passing out," he began. "But as I'm still alive, is it safe to assume that we succeeded?"

She nodded slowly and conjured a seat by his bedside.

"Um, well, yes. Minister Voldemort is dead, his favoured aurors are dead or captured, and uh—some of… there are some Order members who didn't make it but-yes, we succeeded. It's only been a day, but Mr. Malfoy has managed to keep the peace as well as gather the Wizengamot to elect an Interim Minister and release those in Azkaban."

She fell silent and looked torn, like she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Just say it," he told her. Hermione nodded.

"Sir-Severus, why wasn't Mr. Malfoy at Hogwarts for the battle?"

Severus chuffed a laugh.

"Aside from his disinclination to get his hands dirty? Hermione, Mr. Malfoy's support and utility comes in a different form than most. There's his money yes, but there's also his political clout. The difference his one wand could have made in battle is nothing compared to what his words will do for us in the days to come. Having not participated, he can seem the impartial observer while he works to clear our names. Though many may thank us, taking down the Minister for Magic isn't exactly legal, you know."

"Right. That's uh… I remember that's why weren't to go to St. Mungo's. We managed to bring in some healers, but…"

Hermione began to tear up and lowered her gaze.

"But, they couldn't… Severus, have you seen-?" When he could only give her a confused frown, she plowed ahead. "Your leg. The phoenix tears were able to stop the venom, but they couldn't reverse the damage. Magical venom, the necrosis… the whole leg was dead, so they—"

Severus drew in a sharp breath when he realized… He stared at the thick mound of blankets where his legs… no, leg. Just the one. The numbness… Amputated.

Resisting the urge to investigate his leg's gaping absence, he slowly exhaled and forced himself to relax.

"Ah. Well, that's… unpleasant," he said eventually, struggling for an even tone. "Though given that I was prepared to give my life, I suppose a… leg, is rather insignificant."

Hermione smiled weakly, and Severus desperately needed a distraction from the subject.

"Perhaps you could fill me in on the details of our victory. Last I recall-" His eyes darted to hers in a moment of realization. "Mr. Potter! He's… is he well?"

She nodded vehemently.

"Oh yes, Harry's fine! Well, tired, but so we all are. I suppose I should explain…"

"Please do."

"When we found you, Harry was standing over Minister Voldemort's body, holding two wands and looking lost. He didn't even notice when we arrived-"

"Pardon, 'we?' Who was there? And when? Weren't you supposed to be in the castle?"

Hermione shrugged sheepishly.

"Well… Um, the battle was going so well for us, it was only a matter of time before we subdued them all. I suggested to Auror Shacklebolt that we go after you and Harry to lend our support. Well, I told him that _I_ was going and would he please come with me?"

Severus laughed softly. "Naturally."

"Right, so by the time we got there, Harry had just overpowered the Minister and you were unconscious and bleeding.…"

Hermione frowned in unhappy remembrance.

"I used the phoenix tears you gave me and did my best to help you while Auror Shacklebolt spoke with Harry. Apparently his and Voldemort's spells had met in the middle and somehow rebounded. We're not sure how that happened yet. Killed by his own killing curse… His body seemed so much less frightening then, just an empty shell."

She paused in her storytelling, took a deep breath and moved on.

"We immobilized you, Harry retrieved the locket horcrux and we all headed back to the castle. By that time the battle was over and a number of healers were there. That's when they, uh, your leg…"

Severus made a gesture for her to continue.

"After that, you'd instructed us to 'lay low' for a while so we tried to bring you back to your home, but-frankly, your wards were too strong and none of us could get inside!"

She looked so frustrated he couldn't help but laugh.

"My apologies, I hadn't counted on being unconscious when I returned. Where are we then? I know it's not Headquarters."

Hermione nodded.

"Headquarters is so full, it's where we took all the injured who needed looking after. By that time you were healed as you could be and just needed rest. So we needed somewhere else to sleep and I remembered that Albus said…" her breath hitched, and she had to explain. "Albus… he was found outside the gates. He-he didn't make it."

Despite knowing the inevitable outcome, it was still a blow for Severus to hear.

"I'd… like to get a full list of the dead, at some point soon," he told her quietly, and she nodded.

A moment of silence, and Hermione continued.

"Right. I… remembered that Albus said we could find refuge at Hog's Head. That's where we are, the rooms above the bar. It turns out-" She laughed softly. "Actually, I think I'll let it be a surprise. It seems that's what he wanted."

Severus stared her down with a confused glare, but she seemed determined. Whatever she had been about to disclose would remain a surprise.

With that, the most pertinent information had been conveyed and they both floundered for something to say.

"Everyone will be relieved to see that you're awake in the morning," she tried, but he only grunted.

Another silence.

"I'm not really sure what to do with myself now," Hermione admitted. "No longer condemned just for being born, in a few days I'll actually be able to live freely. The Wall has fallen, you know. Wizarding Britain is still hidden, but no longer trapped…" She sighed. "I guess I'll go back to school. One year left, after all."

"A solid plan," he told her with a smirk. "You'll need your credentials."

She shook her head.

"It almost seems pointless, but maybe it will be nice to feel normal again. Whatever that means."

"As far as seeking normality goes, I believe there was the matter of your parents," he put forth hesitantly. "Assuming you still want to-?"

"Of course! You'll… still come with me?"

"Of course."

Hermione grinned inanely, and he was happy to see her so excited about the future.

"If you'd like, we might be able to find your father as well," she told him. "Do you know his full name?"

The suggestion took him by surprise. His father? He'd never thought it possible he might come to know the man. A man who, if he was even still alive, would have no idea that he even existed.

"Yes, but, I… am not certain that's necessary."

"Are you sure? I'd like to help," she said, laying a hand on his arm. "I... care about you, after all."

Severus felt his face flush in embarrassment. What was that supposed to mean?

"How strange. It might be the post-victory rush that you're confusing with some sort of sentiment."

Hermione laughed.

"No, that's not it. It's more like… hmm, how about I show you?"

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she lifted her wand and motioned distinctively.

"_Animus revelo_," she cast at him, and even as his soul manifested visually Severus watched with horror as a small glow settled around her chest as well.

She let him stew in his speechless anxiety for a moment before she couldn't restrain her cackling.

"Oh, it's not like that. I _care_ about you, Severus, yes. But maybe I failed to mention… I cast a certain tracking charm the other day before you left the castle. That's how I knew that Auror Kingsley and I had to find you…"

Severus sighed in relief, shaking his head and smiling.

"A mean trick. Was there some action of mine in particular that prompted it?"

"Revenge, obviously, for nearly dying on me. I would never have forgiven you!" She glared playfully.

"…Bad time?" a voice asked gruffly from the open doorway. They both turned to look, but while Hermione greeted the man with a cheerful, "not at all," Severus froze in response to his second great shock in as many minutes.

Albus?

…But no. Though their faces were certainly similar, the two wizards clearly had their differences. This man was stockier, more grizzled in look and nature.

"Brought you something to eat, since it seems you lot are determined keep gabbing away in the wee hours," the wizard who resembled Dumbledore told them, brandishing a plate of sandwiches.

"Thank you, Aberforth!" Hermione said, happily accepting the offered food. "Would you like to join us?"

"Eh, and who is this?" Severus interjected, too curious to be polite.

"Owner a' Hog's Head," the wizard told him, just as Hermione said, "Albus's brother!"

A brother. Yes, that explained it. Though it created many more questions as well.

Mr. Dumbledore—presumably, unless he was a half-brother on the maternal side—gave Hermione a glare. She ignored it.

"Hmph. Yeah, well, used to be maybe," he admitted. "Doesn't speak to me for decades, then off and dies. Sends strangers to me for safe-keeping. More a pain in my arse than a brother."

"Mr. Dumbledore," Severus began, only to be interrupted by a sharp:

"Aberforth."

"Aberforth, then. I don't know if it will mean anything to you, but… Albus died in the manner of his choosing. He tied the nation's wards to his life to protect the muggles, and then sacrificed himself so that we could live freely. I believe he saw it as repentance for past mistakes."

Hermione regarded him with surprise, but the older wizard thought about this quietly for a moment before grunting in agreement.

"Yeah. Sounds like him. Always with the dramatic gestures," he grumbled. "Always a stubborn fool. One incident and suddenly all the muggles are the enemy. I guess he finally saw sense."

Severus and Hermione exchanged an uncertain glance. Aberforth caught it.

"Curious, are you? Suppose I might as well tell you. No point in keeping it secret."

He drew up a chair of his own and sat down heavily with a sigh.

"We had a younger sister, Ariana. Was attacked by muggles when she was six and went half-mad. Had outbursts of magic. Da' went to Azkaban for killing her attackers, then one day while we were gone Ariana lost control and killed Mum and herself.

"After that, Albus took it into his head that the muggles were to blame. Not sure if he was led more by hate or fear, but he got caught up scheming with his mate Grindelwald and next thing you know he's Minister and we're all shut in a cage. Idiot."

Severus digested this new information with a frown, and Hermione said,

"So it was your family's tragedy that led to… all of this?"

Aberforth shrugged.

"It wouldn't have worked unless others wanted the same thing," Severus said. "His ideas fell on willing ears. Our prejudice against the muggles is what led us here, but I suppose he was the necessary catalyst."

Hermione crossed her arms and hunched over slightly in her chair.

"I don't want to blame him," she said. "I liked Albus."

"You can like a man without approving of his actions," Severus said.

"I guess he wasn't so bad," Aberfoth mused, "Compared to that 'Voldemort' character, he was a downright saint."

"It is a flattering comparison," Severus agreed.

"For anyone," Hermione grumbled. "That man was evil. A dark lord!"

"As near enough as I've seen in my life," Aberborth said, rising from his chair with a grunt. "Funny thing, I heard a prophecy once that had me thinking there might be… but might be just the ramblings of a crazed old drunk. Better that it never came to pass."

He headed to the door.

"A late hour like this, not kind to old men like me. Unless this building's burning, I don't want to be woke 'til noon. That goes for the lot of you, so tell the others. You hear?"

Severus and Hermione nodded demurely.

"Thank you for the sandwiches and conversation, Aberforth," Hermione said, "Have a good night."

"Thank you," Severus echoed.

Aberforth grumbled a "g'night" before heading to his own room. Leaving Severus and Hermione to their sandwiches. They chewed in comfortable silence.

* * *

Two weeks later it was the end of summer, and Hermione stood beside Severus in Manchester. Pardoned for their "crimes" by the newly elected Minister Fudge, they were free to live their lives as they saw fit. And with the collapse of the Wall, that included to freedom to travel and speak with muggles.

Their clothes were transfigured to blend in with those around them. Severus gripped a cane in one hand and walked slowly with a visible limp. He hadn't gotten used to his prosthetic yet.

They had just left a hovel of a home, where they'd gone to find and speak with a muggle by the name of Tobias Snape.

They learned that he was a bitter old man with an ex-wife and two children he never saw. He drank excessively and was in poor health. He didn't much care to hear of Eileen's death, and didn't much care to know his son.

All in all, a short meeting that they were only too happy to leave.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said as they walked away.

"What for?"

"Well… that. That man was rather unpleasant. I'm sure he wasn't the father you were hoping for."

Severus took a few moments to form a response.

"Maybe not… but I _had_ a father who was everything I could have hoped for. The wizard who raised me. The fact that I share Tobias Snape's blood doesn't necessitate that he care for me, nor me for him."

They walked a little further before ducking into an empty lot to apparate. Only a week since the Ministry had started granting licenses again and Hermione already had hers. Show-off. Severus had called her "insufferable."

"Are you ready?" he asked.

And despite the failure of the first meeting, Hermione's heart beat a little faster in anticipation.

"Yes."

He took her hand and she interlaced their fingers.

A _crack_ and they were two hundred miles away and back in London. The place of their second meeting was just a few blocks down the road.

Emerging into the street proper, Hermione kept her hand at his elbow as they continued along the pavement.

"Do you ever wonder 'what if?'" she asked him. "What if the Wall had never been built? If you had grown up with your father, or if I'd grown up with my parents."

Hermione paused, trying to imagine such a scenario, to imagine different possibilities.

"What if Riddle hadn't made his horcruxes? If he hadn't killed Mr. Grindelwald or taken over the Ministry? What might be different? Those who might still be alive. Harry's parents. Albus…"

Severus didn't answer for several long minutes. She let him think.

"It is tempting… but ultimately fruitless to wonder," he said finally. "Since we'll never know. And if we allow our thoughts to get tangled up in 'what might have been's… I think it inevitable that we'll dwell on the mistakes we yearn to correct. We'll invent some perfect scenario where everyone is happy, and in reality…"

He paused in his walking to adjust the prosthetic leg. Despite all the spells used for comfort, it was a damned nuisance.

"Reality is never perfect. If it's not one tragedy, it's another. There's no guarantee that some other action would have led to better results. Better… better to focus on the good that _is_. We're alive, mostly intact, standing free with the opportunity for you to finally see your parents. That's a damn sight better than what could have been."

Hermione laughed softly.

"You're right, of course. But who knew you were such an optimist, Severus?"

"I am nothing of the kind," he responded primly. "I will deny it with my dying breath and throw in some doomsaying for good measure."

"That's more like it."

They paused in front of the townhouse inhabited by Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione inhaled deeply and sighed, expression pinched and worried.

"What if-?"

"You'll be fine," Severus assured her, pulling her by the hand to the front step. Another deep breath, she smiled.

"Yes."

Together they knocked on the door.

* * *

**Fin.**

* * *

**A/N:** There it is, after more than 3 years. Sorry it took so long, and thank you to those who have read and commented. Many heartfelt thanks. I hope it satisfies.

~nadagio


	20. First Step

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for your kind comments. I had several requests to see the meeting between Hermione and her parents, so here's an epilogue for you. :)

(And for anyone who didn't realize, the first couple sentences way back in Step 1 were about Ariana Dumbledore. It's the start of this story because that's where this universe diverges from canon.)

* * *

**First Step**

* * *

A knocking on the front door took Hugh's attention from his periodical and he turned his head with a frown.

"Jane, are we expecting anyone?" he said, voice raised so his wife could hear him from the kitchen.

"No, dear. Can you get it? Our hands are covered."

Hugh rose from his place on the sofa with a groan and a crackling of his knees. It had better not be the neighbors about their missing cat again. Honestly, after three weeks if it hadn't turned up it probably wasn't going to.

He tossed his magazine on top of the pile and made towards the entryway. Already preparing to offer his sympathies and regrets—again —he opened the door ready to face Mrs. Jones with a suitably somber expression.

And stopped short. The two strangers he found on his doorstep were most certainly not Mrs. Jones, or even Mr. Jones or their two sons.

"Can I help you?" he said after a moment. Hugh wasn't sure how he possibly could.

The pair would have made an unlikely sales team, and weren't dressed as if they had any official sort of business. A young woman (in her late teens or early twenties at the most) stood beside a dour-looking gentleman in desperate need of a good haircut.

He couldn't imagine what they would be doing standing next to each other, much less knocking on his door.

The young woman smiled and fidgeted, looking to the man who gave a thin-lipped nod. Seeming to take that as encouragement, the girl turned back to Hugh and spoke,

"I hope so. Is this the residence of Hugh and Jane Granger?"

Hugh tightened his grip on the doorknob and took a step closer. The door swung a fraction more closed.

"It is. Is there some trouble?"

Her eyes widened.

"Not at all! It's just that-" Her mouth opened and closed several times. "You see, I lost my parents when I was young and I've been looking into my family tree. Trying to find people related to me. I think… we are related. Do you have time to talk?"

Earnest. Anxious. That was how he would have described her request if asked.

He couldn't recall any relatives that would possibly meet her description: dying and leaving their young daughter orphaned. She had to have the wrong Grangers. He was about to ask for more details, a name…

But Hugh looked at her face. Really looked, and saw his wife's sister. And his mother-in-law. In the eyes and lips. Chin, too. Maybe it was possible. On the off chance that this young woman was correct and they were related, he didn't want their first meeting to be a paranoid interrogation on the front step without any sort of hospitality or welcome.

He sighed and took a step back.

"I do. Why don't you both come inside?"

They stepped into the entry hall, and Hugh kept them there for a moment.

"Jane, can you take Viola upstairs?" he called. "We have guests."

"What?" There was a clattering of utensils and dishes. "Just a minute!"

Hugh led them to the living room and gestured toward the sofa.

"Please, have a seat. Would you like any tea?"

They sat next to each other and the man spoke up for the first time. His voice was deep and even.

"We wouldn't want to be a burden."

"Not at all," Hugh said, waving a dismissive hand and completing the exchange of pleasantries. "Just a moment and I'll bring it right out."

His steps on the way to the kitchen were a little faster than normal. At the sink, Jane was trying to get Viola's hands clean and their daughter was pouting.

"Who is it?" Jane spoke quietly. Hugh shrugged and gathered the tea set.

"There's a girl who thinks she might be a relation. Could be, I suppose. Looks a lot like Emily. She came with a bloke and wants to talk."

His wife's eyes narrowed and Viola tried to wiggle away without success.

"Did you get a name? She didn't say anything about money, did she?"

His mouth thinned and he filled the pot with boiling water from the instant hot and fetched some tea leaves. Hopefully their guests wouldn't be there long enough to merit a proper brew.

"I didn't, and no. It seemed rude to leave them at the door."

Jane sighed.

"Nothing to do about it now. Thanks for getting the tea," she said, and then directed her attention to Viola. "Now it's time to go to your room for a time. What would you like to read?"

"Paddington!" The girl bounced on her toes and followed Jane toward the stairs.

Hugh smiled and carried the tea tray behind.

When he entered the living room and set it down, Hugh noted that his guests' attention followed Viola very attentively as she crossed the doorway. The man was more subtle about it but the young woman's wide-eyed stare was hard not to notice.

His smile became a grimace, his tone stiff as he said,

"It will need time to steep, of course."

The wide-eyed stare was on him, then, and the girl's joy was evident in her grin.

It was an awkward two minutes as Hugh tried to think of something to say. He thought of nothing.

He sighed in relief to see Jane descend the stairs and join them.

"Hello, I'm Jane Granger," his wife said with a polite smile, taking an armchair. "I don't believe we caught your names?"

"Severus Snape, a pleasure," the man offered, but the young woman sat still for several moments without speaking. Hugh frowned and was about to ask if she was all right, and then she finally spoke.

"Have you ever thought that magic might exist?" she said.

He and Jane exchanged a glance at the strange non sequitur. He moved to stand beside his wife's chair.

"I suppose when I was a boy," Hugh said slowly. Jane said nothing. "Like many, I had a healthy imagination."

"Imagine what you could do with it," the girl continued with an odd smile. "Clean the dishes without touching them, conjure a stool from thin air, heal a scraped knee, change a mouse into a cat and a cat into a dog."

Hugh began to wonder if this girl were on drugs, or a touch insane and maybe ought to be. Could she be violent? She seemed manic, but not angry. And the man, Snape, a quiet sort. Was he barmy too? Or maybe her minder.

The girl continued her rambling.

"But then you could also do horrible things as well. Injure with a word, tear down protections, invade and deceive. If magic were real, you couldn't always trust what your senses tell you. Because your senses could be tricked.

"Magic could do great good or ill, depending on its user. Like any tool. But it would make the impossible, possible."

The young woman fell silent, eyebrows furrowed. Appearing to search for words. Hugh and Jane watched her, stunned and uncertain what might follow such a statement.

Snape nudged her side with his elbow and gave a nod that seemed to say 'get on with it.' She took a deep breath.

"Magic is real," she said, removing a polished stick from the sleeve of her jumper. "And it can do all the things I said and more."

A gesture from her stick, and abruptly one of the teacups was a canary. It chirped and fluttered around their heads, darting around the room in search of open sky. Another gesture and the bird was a teacup again, falling to the floor.

A flick, and the cup froze in midair. It floated smoothly back to the tea tray and settled down as the girl lowered her stick.

Trembling, Hugh reached forward to lift the cup in his hands. It was just a teacup. Solid, it had weight. He fumbled to fill it and the others with tea, trying to disguise his incredulity with courtesy.

"That's very interesting," he said, even as his thoughts ran something like '_What was that? What did she do? How did she do it?_' "But I'm not sure why you felt the need to share it with us."

She took his offered tea with a quiet "thank you." There was a silence as they all poured and stirred in their sugar and milk, blew on the hot liquid and took tentative sips.

It took another moment and a second nudge from the man by her side for the young woman to speak again.

"I needed to tell you, because…" Snape placed a hand on her shoulder when again she paused. "Sixteen years ago, magic users took your daughter away and made you think she was dead. Because she could also use magic. But she isn't dead."

A heavy stone dropped in Hugh's stomach, and it grew heavier and more nauseating with each second. Jane grabbed at his arm and held tight.

How dare she. How _dare_ this girl come into their home spouting crazy nonsense, pull a magic trick and then bring up their _daughter_? How dare she try to make them believe Hermione wasn't dead.

As if he hadn't held the cold, still toddler in his arms and wept for hours. As if he hadn't had to watch them bury his precious baby girl. As if he hadn't been struggling with the pain and guilt and nightmares for years.

He and Jane had finally moved on, as best they could, and now this _girl_ thought she could just-

"_I _am not dead. My name is Hermione Jean Granger."

That derailed him, and he faintly heard the clatter of a cup falling, bouncing, breaking on the floor. He didn't even look, he couldn't breathe.

The fury returned ten-fold. He opened his mouth to shout-

And looked at her wide-eyed, anxious face. Near tears. Hugh exhaled in a rapid burst. He really looked, and for a moment allowed himself to stop rationalizing and _hope_.

"She has your eyes," he said to Jane. "Your lips and chin."

Hugh looked at his wife, met her agonized gaze.

"Hugh…" It was a groaning entreaty.

He took her hand and squeezed. His vision blurred with tears. Jane drew in a shaky breath.

"She has your nose," she said. "The wild Granger hair."

Together they faced the girl, a stranger who just might be the daughter they'd lost.

"_Hermione?_" Jane whispered.

As one they stood: Hugh, Jane, and Hermione. They took small steps forward, searching with their eyes.

Jane lifted a shaking hand. Hermione met her halfway, leaning into the touch on her cheek with a brilliant smile. Just like his wife's.

"Hermione," Hugh said with a choked sob, gathering his girls into his arms.

They sank to the floor in a mess of tears and tangled limbs. Jane held the girl's face in both hands as Hermione said,

"Mum. Dad."

It was some time before the three stopped crying. They slowly withdrew and stared at each other, speechless with joy and astonishment. Still sitting on the floor.

Hugh's attention was caught by a handkerchief appearing beside his face. Unable to suffer any further shock, he plucked it from midair and wiped at his face then blew his nose. Two similar handkerchiefs had been conjured and were used by his wife and daughter. The scraps of cloth disappeared just as quickly as they came.

"Thank you," he said, addressing Severus Snape who at that moment was repairing the dropped cup and cleaning the spilled tea with a few waves of his own stick. The man nodded in response.

"I don't understand how this is possible," Jane said. Her eyes were fixed to Hermione's face. "You were dead. We saw-we _buried_…"

"An item that was transfigured to perfectly resemble the body of your daughter if she had died of heart failure," Snape spoke up. His tone was crisp and informative. "A tricky bit of magic, but the Ministry was determined to remove your daughter from your care with minimum fuss."

"Minimum fuss…" Hugh echoed, astonished and furious. "Why would anyone do something so deplorable? And which Ministry? Surely this couldn't be legally sanctioned!"

"Regrettably, the policies of the Ministry of Magic—Wizarding Britain's governing body—have for decades been influenced by a prejudiced and isolationist sentiment," the man said. "It was believed that your daughter, as a witch, would be better served if she were raised in the wizarding world rather than the muggle, the non-magic."

Hermione shook her head, expression anguished.

"I couldn't leave. I wished so many times that I could, that I could run away and find you," she said. Jane wrapped her arms around the girl and pulled her into a tight hug.

"In reality I believe the policy was motivated more from a desire to keep the two worlds separate than any concern for the childrens' well-being," Snape elaborated. "They didn't want to bring the muggle parents in on the secret that magic exists."

"There were others?" Hugh said, aghast. That anyone could do such a thing _regularly_, tearing children from their parents and leaving corpses in their place.

"A handful of children capable of magic are born to muggles every year," the man confirmed.

Hugh shook his head, unable to comprehend so many revelations. Meeting his daughter was overwhelming enough, but to be confronted with the reality of _magic_, and a secret government stealing children… He felt numb. He couldn't process it.

"I have a feeling there's a lot more that needs to be said." Hugh said. "You'll both stay for supper won't you? Jane and Viola were just preparing a meal."

He stood from the floor with a grunt. Jane and Hermione slowly followed, their hands clasped tightly.

"Viola is your sister," Jane said to the girl with a soft smile, and Hermione beamed. "Why don't we fetch her from upstairs and we can get to know each other as I finish getting supper ready?

"Yes!" the girl said, while Snape accepted Hugh's invitation with a nod and, "If you'd like."

Jane took Hermione upstairs and Hugh watched them leave. In that moment he was filled with a warmth that comes from true contentment and love.

"Hermione is a very kind and intelligent young woman," Snape said quietly. "You should be proud."

Hugh felt a pang of jealousy that this man should know his daughter when he did not.

"I can hardly claim any part in her upbringing," he muttered, and then felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder.

"She's here now, and if fate allows you'll have many years to know her and be a positive influence. She's faced a great deal in her short life, and in the face of adversity has shone brightly where others might have dimmed. You _will_ be proud."

It was offered like a promise.

Hugh coughed and stepped away, returning to tidy the tea set.

"Another cup while we wait?"

They settled in with more tea just as the girls returned from upstairs with Viola. The youngest was chattering excitedly as they headed toward the kitchen and Hugh watched them with a smile.

As they disappeared around the corner, Hugh turned his attention to the man seated across from him.

"And what is your part in all this, Mr. Snape?" he said, realizing that while Hermione's presence had been explained he knew nothing of this stoic man beyond his name and that he could also perform magic. "How do you know Hermione?"

"I looked after her on a number of occasions when she was younger, and I was part of the same effort that recently overturned the Ministry's laws regarding muggles and muggle-born wizards," Snape said.

Hugh was curious to hear more of this effort—had Hermione really been part of a political campaign?—when the man continued.

"And as of recently, I consider her… a friend."

A protective instinct rose in him for this girl he had never had the chance to know, and he confirmed, "Just a friend?"

Snape's eyes widened and he looked unsettled for the first time since Hugh met him at the door.

"Indeed, a friend," he said firmly. Hugh nodded, relieved.

"Dad, Severus!" Hermione shouted, nearly skidding to a halt just outside the living room. "Come join us! I conjured some butterflies for Viola and she's trying to catch them in a jar and it's just really cute. Won't you watch?"

Hugh raised an eyebrow. Butterfly-catching in _Jane_'s kitchen? That would be something to see.

He stood alongside Snape and they followed the young woman obediently. Jane was, unsurprisingly, exasperated but tolerating the noise and chaos in her kitchen as she finished preparing the food.

That evening, Hugh Granger sat at the table with his wife, two daughters, and his daughter's friend. They ate, they spoke, they cried, and they laughed. His family felt complete and his home full in a way it hadn't been for sixteen years.

It was the first meal of many eaten together in the decades to come. Hugh had the great privilege to watch Hermione grow and mature into a wonderful woman. A wonderful witch.

She shone brightly, and he was proud.


End file.
